


Beyond the Veil

by vir_tanadahl



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-12-13 07:53:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11755383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vir_tanadahl/pseuds/vir_tanadahl
Summary: AU. The Gods are said to exist above, but she has never seen them. Her mother is a high priest of Mythal, her twin brother a loyal hunter of Andruil, but they have never seen them. The Gods don’t come to the beds of the tired, the hungry, and the sick. She does. If Isera were to meet a God that came to the bedside of the sick and dying, then she would bend the knee. Until then, she stands tall and in defiance.But…who is the man trying to heal the sick? And doing a poor job at it.F!Lavellan x Fen’harel (Solas)AKA: An AU fic about Isera and Fen’harel, where the Gods exist, but live on the other side of the Veil and only come to help or to damn the People. And Fen’harel falls in love with Isera, but she rarely prays to the Gods, so he has to disguise himself to interact with her.





	1. Chapter 1

Isera is floating in the middle of a crystal-clear lake staring up at the night sky that is dancing with colors. She can feel the giant sea creature circling around her, singing her a song. The Gods are said to exist above, but she has never seen them. Her mother is a high priest of Mythal, her twin brother a true hunter of Andruil, but they have never seen them.

Her father is said to be among the favored of the Gods, able to control the Veil and the very Fade itself. She hasn’t met him either. Maybe he is a God then.

 

But she is the problem child. Consistently refusing to bend the knee to pray to a God. When she was blessed with the same power as her father, an i've'an'amelan. The People thought she would cease her personal rebellion and follow a God. 

They called it a blessing. They called it a gift. But still, she refuses.

 

She sees the world differently now. The Veil above her head still dances in colors, but they are brighter, and the sound of magic sings louder than before. She can feel the Veil breathe with every shimmer of color. But she still won’t pray for them.

She feels the spirits follow her. One, in particular, has become fond of her. Unlike the rest of the spirits, it does not speak to her. Just silently observe her for the last year. Spirits are finicky things—come and go as they please. But this spirit stayed, always near in her dreams. Sometimes she feels it while she is awake, but today the spirit is not with her.

 

Eventually, her mother stopped trying to force to go to the Temples. After her brother obediently picked a God to follow and to pray to their mother just gave up. Of course, Isera attends the holiday mass because she knows this action greatly pleases her mother, but she could not bring herself to do anything more.

Isera spends her time running through the force, reading in the library, talking to the People and the slaves. The nobles find her odd and whisper behind her back, but they would not do anything about her defiance. Her mother is the high priest of Mythal. Mythal, the Protector, the All-Mother, and goddess of love, is the patron of motherhood, justice, and vengeance.

 

Isera knows how to play the perfect child. She answers all the questions she gets politely and correctly—she just ignores the rest. She smiles with the devoted, talks as though she is devout. The devoted tell how she can be better, take the higher place. She smiles and nods. Then walks away. 

 

She can tell you that the World was created by Mythal who tamed the anger of Elgar’nan. Their children taught the People: Falon’din and Dirthamen carry the people into uthenera, and the June taught the People to build, Andruil taught the way of the three trees, Sylaise brought fire and healing, and June the crafts.

Fen’harel, the youngest of all of her children did not care to teach. He is said to be the god of rebellion, betrayal, and tricks.

 

She can sing the songs to praise the Gods, but her voice never soars far.

The chill of the water against the warm breeze of the summer air brings Isera back into reality. The sun will rise soon. Isera takes a deep breath as she allows herself to sink under the water, relaxing in the silence that is so rare before swimming to shore. It is late—or early, depending on who you ask. Isera pulls herself out of the land as she mumbles a heating spell that dries her off before changing into her clothing.

 

She begins walking to the fields. The slaves will be waking soon, and their wounds will need to be tended to.

When she arrives to the field, Isera climbs the tree and perches herself on a branch that overlooks the field. The noble who owns this land worships Dirthamen, the God of Secrets and Knowledge. He makes his slaves bleed for the God. She watches as the sun lights up the golden field of wheat as the slaves slowly make their way into the field, using their scythe to cut the plant.

 

Isera watches, waiting to see who is the slowest to move. The slaves who move too slow are beaten harder the in the evening. She watches as a slave falls to her knees in pain. Isera dashes forward, her body being consumed in smoke as she turns into a pure white fennic as she crosses the field to the injured slave.

She knows this slave. Her name is Anise, and she is a single mother of three daughters. Isera slowly approaches the slave. Anise hisses at her trying to scare Isera away, but she is not afraid. Isera dances around the Anise’s hand as she casts a healing spell over the fresh wounds on her legs.

 

Anise gasps as she realizes what is happening. “Lady Isera!” She whispers in fear. “If he sees you here, he will kill you!” Anise cries as she tries to hide Isera’s fennic form.

“Mythal curse him!” Anise mutters. “Fen’harel take him!”

 

Isera ceases her healing. The wounds will need time to heal without the assistance of magic, but the pain should have lessened. Once Isera does this, she begins bouncing through the field assisting as many slaves as she can. When the sun is high, Isera flees the field to head to the village that the slaves and poor castes live in.

Isera pulls the hood of her cloak over her head as she walks into the village, pulling her healing bag closer. The children squeal with delight as she approaches them. Isera smiles and drops to her knees to hug them. They are all talking at once telling her about their day and their family.

 

The children lead her into an empty shack as Isera conjures food for them. They squeal at this feat. Being an i've'an'amelan grants her abilities greater than normal mages. Isera can create life, conjure food, craft buildings in the physical world and in her dreams. The Order of the Keepers has attempted on many occasion to have her join their cult, as Isera calls it. But she has refused. 

The Order hides from the People claiming they are doing the work requested by the Gods. Isera doesn’t understand how hiding and ignoring the People does anything to please the Gods. Thus she remains trying to impact the world in little ways.

 

“Isera!” A child rushes into the shack calling her name. “You must come!” He begs, tears falling down his face. “My mamae, my mamae!” He jumps up and down to get her attention.

Isera stands, murmuring for the rest to stay here as she rushes forward. The child rushes away, leading Isera towards his home. The tears never stop as she catches up to him. “My mamae, my mamae,” is all he says to her.

 

Isera steps into the shack. It is dark and smells of sickness. She blocks the child from entering his home. “My darling, I will look at your mother, but I need you to stay here.” She asks, her voice soft as she holds his small hands. “Can you find me some elfroot, my dear?” She whispers as she runs her fingers through his hair.

He nods tearfully as he turns and rushes to find the herb.

 

Isera turns her attention back to the woman within the shack. She realizes someone else is standing over her, another hooded figure. Isera quietly enters the room as she watches the man attempt to heal her.

 

Isera glances around, looking at what is strung across the home. Herbs and other scavenged food. This woman was hungry and desperate to eat.

The hooded figure curses in frustration as he pulls back his hood. He jolts slightly at Isera's presence. He turns to look at her. He is bald wearing simple cotton clothing covered in dirt with an open healing bag next to him. Her eyes flutter to the dark jaw bone necklace against his beige shirt for a moment before staring back at him.

 

“You should go.” He tells her. “There is a sickness here that cannot be cured.” 

Isera hums as she continues to stare at him, her face still covered. “I haven’t tried.” She states as she steps forward to look at the woman.

 

The man stops her. “It would be best if you did not.” He stands as he blocks her route. He is close to her, and she can smell the scent of moss and dirt on his clothing. 

Isera smiles as she cocks her head to the side. “Move aside,” She orders. “You are preventing me from looking at my patient.” He frowns, clearly not expecting her to challenge his word.

 

“She is going to die.” He announces as he moves to the side. Isera drops to her knees and begins assessing the woman. She is cold and sweaty. Her heartbeat is fast and breathes shallowly. Isera pulls out her healing bag and removes a vial. She presses the tip to the woman’s mouth, whispering for her to drink the contents. 

The woman releases a long sigh as her body begins to relax. She will live.

 

Isera stands and turns to head out of the shack. “You have her something to relieve the pain then?” the stranger asks.

Isera stares at him. She hasn’t seen him in the village before. “No.” She answers. “I gave her the antidote to the poison fungi she ate.” Confusion flashes across the man’s face as he looks around, noting the mushroom on the ground.

 

Another man rushes towards Isera as she steps out of the hut. “By the Gods, you came!” He cries as he collapses onto the ground. “I prayed to all of them for weeks. No one answers. But finally", he explains. "Fen’harel must have sent you.”

Isera cocks her head to the side. “Faron, I visit the village weekly.” She announces as she pulls her bag close as she prepares to leave. She has another village to attend to.

 

“My lady, you came early. You usually come on Ghi'lan'vun'in, tomorrow.” Another villager calls. “He had to have sent you, my lady.” Others chime in with agreements. Isera sighs, but does not bother trying to change their belief. They do not have the luxury of being able to doubt the belief in the Gods as she does.

Isera approaches one of the villagers as she watches the man begin to leave the hut. “Have you seen that man before?” She whispers to the elder. The elder stares up at the man. “Never in my life, my lady.”

 

Isera frowns as she begins following the stranger, who is walking out of the village. “Excuse me!” She shouts as she jogs to catch up to him.

 

He stops walking and turns to look at her. “Yes?” he asks as she stands before him.

“Who are you?” She asks, placing her hand on her hip as she stares at him.

 

“Just a traveler.” He answers. His face remains unmoved as they both assess each other. His presence feels familiar as they stare into each other's eyes.

“Traveler from where?” She presses. It is rare to see another solo traveler helping the poor. There are organizations with in the cities that are meant to assist the slaves and poor, but they only come out when it is the popular thing to do.

 

“A village in the North.” He answers. He doesn't break his stare.

Isera frowns, eyes narrowing at the vagueness in his answer. “There are many villages in the North.” She responds.

 

“There are.”

 

Isera scowls at him. “You would have let her die.” She states. “If you are going to heal these people, you should at least be aware that that species of fungi varies from the north and southern region. It’s poisonous here.” She remarks tersely before walking past him.

 

There is a part of her that is angry. If she had not shown, the stranger would have given that woman a potion to ease her pain and ending her life sooner than not. He had deemed the woman a lost cause before evaluating his surroundings.

The man rushes to catch up with her. “The villagers, they know you?” He questions. His face is softer than before, clearly attempting to see if she is trustworthy. Isera stops in her tracks and glares at him.

 

He is rather attractive despite his wardrobe choices. He has a strong jaw line and high cheekbones. His blue-gray eyes sparkle with interest. He lacks the vallaslin, so he is not a slave.

“You don’t.” She answers as she picks up her pace. She has never seen him before, and neither have the villagers. The issue that remains, if he is to stay and assist the very people she is helping, he cannot make mistakes that he almost made.

 

 The villagers are superstitious people--if enough people were to die under his care, the villagers would ask her to leave. They would claim that she is no longer in favor of the Gods and if she were to stay and try and help, more people would die.

“You’re right.” He answers as he also picks up space. “Why do you help them?” He asks. His eyes sparkling with questions and curiosity.

 

“No one else will.” She mutters.

 

He nods in understanding. “Yet they call to the Gods for help.” He states. She can see him watching her intently.

“Do you see any Gods here, stranger? I have traveled these parts, helping these people for years, but I have never seen anyone else assist them.” She pauses, “which begs the question, who are you?” She asks again.

 

He does not answer her, but there is a smirk on his face as he continues to follow her.

 

“Do you find this amusing?” She questions after a few moments of silence. She is upset that her annoyance brings him pleasure and enjoyment.

 

“I find you quite amusing.” He answers with a smirk, his cocked to the side as he continues to watch her.

 

“Is that so?” Isera snorts.  _'What an ass._ ' She thinks as she scoffs to herself, pulling her cloak closer to her. He isn't the first man to comment on her anger, with a patronizing tone and words.

 

“Yes, you are care passionately for the People. Is that why the villagers trust you?” He asks.

 

Isera snorts, shaking her head at the idea. “They trust me because I have been doing this since I was a child and because I treat them with respect. My passion has nothing to do with it.” She answers as she glances at him through the side of her eye.

 

“Is that why you help them escape?”

 

Isera freezes at his words. She can feel her heartbeat in her ears as she turns to fully look at him. She tries to suppress her fear. It is true. She had been freeing slaves and getting them to a place of refuge for years now. It is a crime to do so--punishable by death. He has to know that accusing her of freeing slaves can inhibit her from helping the People. It could cause an investigation against her if someone else overheard his statement.

 

“I’m afraid I do not know what you are referring to.” She answers coolly. Isera had always been careful to not attract the attention of the nobles. The slaves kept quite as did the villagers. 

 

The stranger hums as they continue to walk. “Why do you think the villagers called for Fen’harel?” He questions, changing the subject without a care to the panic that Isera is feeling. 

Isera looks at him in annoyed confusion. “They prayed to all the Gods during times of stress,” Isera replies, her words curt and to the point.

 

“The man said—“

 

“If you want to know why the villagers called upon Fen’harel, I suggest you go ask them. I am not a mind-reader.” She brushes off his words as she picks up her pacing walking.

 

He pauses but then a grin forms on his face as he does the same. Isera rolls her eyes as she continues to walk into the village.

After a few moments of silence, the stranger is still following her with a smirk on his face. She can feel his eyes glancing at her every so often.

 

“Why are you following me?” She asks. “It’s creepy.”

 

“I am not following you, I’m only walking in the same direction as you.” He pauses. “As I recall, you chased after me first, perhaps it is you who following me.”

Isera scoffs. “I make my way through the villages.” She tells him as she sees the form of the settlement appearing quickly over the horizon.

 

“So was I.”

 

Isera gives the stranger an incredulous look before rolling her eyes once more. She does not respond to him, but she will yield for now. If the stranger wanted to follow her around the villages, fine. 

He walks next to her with a pep in his step as he hums a tune. Isera restrains from making a face to display her annoyance as she walks into the village. The children, like the village, before are excited to see her.

 

Isera quickly forgets about the strangers as she is pulled away from him by excited little people. She entertains the children for a few before making her way to the village elders who are ill but are unable go into the deep sleep as most have. There are rites and offerings needed to be able to go into the holy chambers, but these elves are too poor to afford such luxuries. 

She refills the medicine jars to easier the pain in their joints and gently massages their hands as they tell her stories of the past. Some are slowly forgetting their lives, their loved ones, and her. She is doing as much as she can to ease their suffering.

 

She makes her way out to the community garden. Isera taught a few of the villagers how to grow hearty plants. She assists with monitoring the progress and growth of the plants, guiding the People on what to look for.

The stranger returns to her side as Isera is checking on the plants. He wordlessly watches her as she assesses the stems and leaves of the plants for any signs of blight. She pauses, glancing up at the man, who now has a stem of a plant hanging from between his lips.

 

“The villagers are quite fond of you.” He declares as he continues to look at her.

Isera stares up at him, a leaf still between her fingers as she doesn’t reply. She can already hear in her mind the whispers from the villagers asking who the man was and if she was being courted by him.

 

Isera sighs loudly as she stands, slapping her hands together to clean the dirt off her palms. She walks past him without another word. When she turns around to ask him why he continues to follow her, he is gone.

 

Isera frowns and glances around for a moment before walking away, back to the city.

There is a howling behind her, but she does not pay any mind to the call.


	2. Chapter 2

Isera walks into her home after a long day of wandering the villages. She is covered in dirt and in no way dressed as someone of her title should. One of the servants approaches her in absolute horror. “My lady!” She gasps as she grabs Isera’ hand and pulls her away. “You mustn’t wear just clothing—they would think you a commoner!”

 

Isera stares at the servant but doesn’t say anything as she is lead into the bathing area. The servant is quick to strip Isera of the dirty cotton and helps her into the large tub full of hot soapy water. Isera duns her head under the water and stays under for a few moments. Silence.

She finally resurfaces where the servant is quick to gather the strains of Isera’s hair for cleaning. The smell of chocolate, coconut and lavender fill her senses as the servant massages the oil into her hair. She hums a tune that Isera is familiar with.

“Laisa,” Isera murmurs as Laisa’s fingers press into her neck.

 

“Yes, my lady?” Laisa answers as she continues to hum the tune.

 

“Who is here?” Isera asks. It is rare that Laisa would immediately take her for a bath on arrival. In fact, it was as if Laisa was waiting for her to return.

“My lady, why would you suggest such a thing?” Laisa tuts as she pats Isera on her head. Isera dunks her head under the water. When she resurfaces Isera looks at Laisa with a frown.

 

“Laisa.” Isera whines. “Who is it?”

Laisa scowls and looks away. “It is a noble from the east seeking your hand in marriage.” She tells her. “Your mother did not want you to know.” Laisa admits. “She didn’t want you running off like last time.”

 

Isera snickers. “I won’t run, Laisa.” She tells her. If her mother discovered that Laisa told her, they both would be punished. Laisa helps her dry off before she begins putting on Isera’s makeup. She darkens Isera’s eyebrows, lines her eyes with kohl, and paints her lips a dark red that compliments her deep copper skin tone.

Laisa pulls out a white gown that will drag against the floor once on Isera. It is a beautiful gown with decorative golden flowers at the bottom of the dress and a golden metal corset herring bow design. The dress bares her shoulders but covers her chest and back. It is elegant and a show of elitism.

 

“Mother picked this, didn’t she?” Isera asks as Laisa puts large golden braces over Isera’s wrists.

“Yes, my lady.”

 

Isera sighs as she mentally prepares for the meeting of the potential suitor. She wonders if her mother hopes that marriage will calm her wild spirit. But she has no interest in marriage with a man loyal to a God who never bothers to walk the parishioner’s path and chooses not to question the world around him.

But she puts a smile on her face as she is lead to the tearoom where she will meet her potential love interest.

 

Isera pulls her shoulders back as the door to the tea room opens and she steps through the opening, her eyes cast down in obedience. She is lead to her seat. Across from her is a young man who skin is dull, almost sickly, as though it has never been touched by the sun. His hair is long, buzzed one side, and braided.

She can see his smirk through her lashes, but keeps her face flat.

 

Eludysia, her mother, stands as she introduces Isera to the men in front of her. “Lords, please meet my daughter, Isera.” She announces. “Isera, this is Lord Miraen and his son, Sileal.”

 

Isera curtsies before she takes her seat. There is a painful silence as the servants begin filling the table with tea, sandwiches, petite cakes, and scones. Her mother coughs as she pours cups of tea for the guests. 

“Lord Miraen, I hear your business has been successful?” Eludysia asks as she hands the men their tea.

 

Miraen grin spreads across his face as he delves into the details of his business. He is clearly proud of his investments. Isera focuses on her cup of tea trying to drown out the droning of his voice.

Suddenly, she feels the presence of the spirit that follows her around. It had been gone most of the day. Isera turns her head slightly to see the orb floating behind Sileal. She attempts to suppress her smile but is unsuccessful. Sileal thinks she’s smiling at him.

 

She takes a sharp breath as she looks down. _‘Shit._ ’ She thinks as she balls her hands into the lap. 

Her ears perk up when she hears Lord Miraen say something slaves. Isera turns her head to that conversation. 

The topic of slaves varies widely between nobles. Some are in support of them, and others are not. It is still illegal to free slaves without paying a high penalty for doing so, particularity if the slave has chosen indentured servitude.

 

Despite the high cost, Eludysia has built her life on purchasing slaves only to free them and offer them jobs if they so choose.  Being a high priestess of Mythal has its benefits.

“Our newest business venture has been quite successful in the transferring of the bondservant.” He states proudly with a grin on his face. He must’ve forgotten the important fact that House Lavellan frowns upon slavery.

 

Isera turns her head sharply to her mother with a tight smile on her face. Eludysia’s face is unmoving as she stares at Lord Miraen.

“Bondservant?” Isera mimics as she takes a long gulp of her tea. “You mean slavery?”

 

Miraen blinks, turning his gaze to Isera. “Well…I wouldn’t go that far. We are only transferring—“

“Oh!” Isera gasps with force, bringing her hand to her mouth. “It couldn’t be slavery because you are just the middle man?” Isera presses with a grin. She discovered long ago that if you are speaking about something uncomfortable to always smile—it makes people uncomfortable. She can feel herself pulling away from the body, as though she is dissociating from reality.

 

Lord Miraen is a large man, with a flushed face as he glares down at her. “Now, I understand that you struggle with the comprehension—“

 

Isera cackles. “Oh, I quite comprehend that slavery is a blight on our glorious civilization, as is the indentured servitude, which is why the legislative process is encouraging the abolishment of such acts.” Isera continues to smile as she takes another large gulp of tea, wishing greatly that it was spiked with alcohol.

 

“Those slaves of the righteous task of honoring our Gods!” He shouts, slamming his hands against the mahogany table. 

Isera throws her hands in the air. “By the Creators!” She turns dramatically to her mother. “I have been born in the House!” She shouts. “I have riches beyond belief, the freedom to walk without fear of death, freedom to own businesses and purchases stocks, but I fail at honoring the Gods because I was not born into the righteous task of being a slave!”

 

Eludysia snorts at her daughter’s antics. She would have stopped her daughter’s outburst ages ago, but she is one of the high priestesses in support of ending slavery. She is enjoying the performance.

Isera jerks her by back to Lord Miraen. “You are right, my Lord. It is such a righteous task to be a slave! You should become one yourself!” Isera barks with glee, gesturing to the noble. The smile on her face is large as she watches the lord recoil in anger, face glowing red and teeth bared.

 

“Lady Eludysia, control your daughter!” He demands as he leans farther back from the table as though he smelled something foul.

Eludysia shrugs, pulling out a flask of alcohol. “My good sir,” She sighs as she unscrews the lid of the flask, “if I could control her, I would have done it years ago.” She answers as she takes long drink.

 

Lord Miraen snarls, jumping out of his chair and throwing his hands in the air. “I have never!” He bellows, grabbing his son by the shoulders and forcing him out of the chair.

Isera cackles as she watches Lord Miraen storm out of the tearoom, amused with her own antics. Isera looks at her mother with an amused sneer before leaving the room herself. Her blood is running hot with amusement, and she does not want to ruin the amusement by arguing with her mother over her choice in men.

 

Isera snatches an aged bottle of wine as she wanders into the forest and towards the lagoon a few miles from her home. By the time she arrives she has drunk almost half the bottle and feeling quite warm and fuzzy.

 

She wades into the water humming to herself as she dances. She continuously takes drinks with every turn and giggles with every memory of her outburst.

“You should be careful,” a voice calls to her. Isera jumps and splashes around, looking at the man on the shore dressed in black with dreadlocks down his back. He has an aged skull that rests against his forehead, and his hands are pulled behind his back as he stares at her.

 

Isera gazes at the man, her mouth slightly open as she shamelessly looks upon him with a drunken desire. “I am very careful,” she responded. Her body feels hot, and it feels like she is vibrating with excitement. The sound of magic is singing softly in her mind as she smiles flirtatiously at the stranger.

The stranger grins at her from the shore.

 

The bottom of her white dress is saturated with water from the loch that is slowly traveling up her body. Isera giggles as she presses the bottle of, win against her lips once more. With her free hand, she motions for the stranger to join her in the water.

 

The stranger agrees to her request as he steps into the water. The bottom of his dark pants are tight against his calves and billow out before the knee as he slowly unbuttons his shirt, throwing it onto the store as he wades deeper into the water.

Isera bites her lip as she passes the bottle of wine to the stranger for him to drink the rest. He does so obediently. Their fingers touch briefly as she can feel the zap of energy tingling up her arm as she watches him drink the liquor.

 

He seems familiar to her, but she can’t place where. Not that she cares at the moment. She is flowing with warmth and desire. She breathes a giggle as he finishes off the bottle, dropping it into the water without a care.

Suddenly his arms are around her waist, pulling her against him with force. She moans as presses her hands into his abdomen, dragging her nails against him. His arms travel down, caressing her ass before lifting her onto his hips.

 

Isera wraps her arms around his neck, gently tugging on his locks as her lips meet his. There is a hunger in her. She nips at his lips with heated desire, her tongue darting out for encouragement. His chest thrums with excitement and craving as he grips her thighs tighter. He smells of moss and cedar.

He opens his mouth to her, her tongue is quick, darting in with the access granted. Her forehead brushes against the animal skull on his head and she pulls back staring at it in confusion.

 

Even though she is not looking at his face, she can see the confusion and desire to continue marked across his face. She brings her finger to the skull and taps it. 

Isera shakes her head. “Why?” She asks as she continues to tap it.

 

He looks up at her and grins. “Why not?” He responds.

 

Isera stares into his eyes, they are blue-gray and swirling with magic. It appears as they are almost glowing. She finds herself enraptured by him.

He slides her off his body, painfully aware of the present erection throbbing as continues to press herself against him. He takes her hand and guides her out of the water. It feels like she is floating as she steps foot on the sandy shore.

 

She tries to pull him closer, pleading to kiss him again. Her finger dance across his arm as his arms wrap around her face. His forehead touches hers, but he does not kiss her. “I’m afraid it’s time for you to wake up.” He whispers.

Isera feels a rush of darkness as she shoots up from...her bed? She is still in the gown from the night before. She stares down in confusion, the bottom of her dress is stained an off-white as though she was…walking in a lake.

 

It is the early morning and her head is throbbing with the invasion of light from the sun. She crawls out from her bed and makes her way into her private bath with a private spring. Isera slowly undresses and slides into the warm water.

She allows herself to float spring allowing the minerals to absorb in her body. The memories of the man from her dreams come flooding back. His taste, his smell, the feeling him against her.

 

After a while, Isera stretches her body as she begins to climb out of the spring. She looks down and sees a few dark marks on the side of the thigh. Isera frowns and rushes towards a mirror, turning to look the back of her legs. There are ten dark, oval marks across the back of her thighs.


	3. Chapter 3

Isera is standing in the market watching her brother purchase fresh fruit from the stalls. She watches the children run around the stalls playing games. Some are marked with the _vallaslin_ others are poor children causing a ruckus. 

She does not enjoy the market. Sometimes they sell the slaves here.

 

When Banreas takes too long for her, Isera turns and walks away. She begins browsing the stalls, looking at the crafts being sold. The smell of sweet sugar fills her nose, and Isera rushes to find the source.

_Honey rolls._

Isera can feel her mouth-watering as she approaches the stall. She sees a small child hovering near the booth, her eyes bouncing back and forth. Before Isera can ask what the girl is doing, she jumps and snatches one of the honey rolls of the counter.

 

The merchant hisses and catches the girl by the arms. He begins to yell and curse the girl, who is dirty and not well-cared for. Isera instinctively steps forward. “I am so sorry!” She pleads, “My daughter, Mythal bless her heart, has no patience!” Isera sighs dramatically.

 

“My darling. I told you, you must wait until I pay before you run off with things!” Isera chastised the girl before looking at the merchant. “She is wild, like the Goddess Andruil. Creators know what I will do with her!”

The merchant frowns in contemplation and confusion but grins when Isera pulls out the coin to pay for the girl’s honey roll and her own. Only, she picks the honey roll in the shape of the halla’s horn. It just tastes better.

 

Isera grabs the girl’s hand and walks away from the merchant. In the corner of her eye, she thinks she sees the man from the village day before. But when she takes a second glance she does not see him. 

The girl tries to escape Isera’s grip, but she refuses to let her go. When they reach a relatively deserted alleyway, Isera lets go. “If you are going to steal, you will need to do a better job than that,” Isera tells her as she sits on the dusty ground.

 

The girl freezes, watching Isera. Isera takes a bit from the tip of the halla horned shaped honey roll. “When was the last time you ate?” Isera asks.

The girl looks around. “Three days ago…” She answers and looks down. “I didn’t steal this for me.” She murmurs.

“Who was it for, _da’len_?”

 

The girl’s eyes fill with tears. “My sisters.” She answers.

 

Isera frowns. “Well,” she says as she stands up. “Best not keep them waiting. Honey rolls are best when they are warm, no?”

The girl hesitates.

“You are safe, my dear,” Isera tells her, motioning for the girl to lead the way.

 

The girl takes her farther away from the market and into the older part of the area. She walks into a building when no door and only a ragged sheet on the doorway, shielding passersby’s from looking inside.

Inside are two other girls and…the stranger from the village a week ago. The two younger children squeal at the sight of their older sister. “Siona!” They call as they rush up to her, pulling at the honey roll. 

“Wait, waiiiiit!” Siona cries as she pulls her arms above her head. “I need to break it first!” She states. Once the younger girls take a step back, Siona gently breaks apart the honey roll, given the two younger girls the larger pieces.

 

They sit in a circle, uncaring of their visitors as they begin munching on the honey roll. Isera glances up at the man, who is standing silently in the corner, observing her. She looks away and bends down, breaking a piece of her honey roll off for the older girl.

“Here,” Isera whispers. “So you all have equal pieces.” Siona obediently takes it as Isera moves to stand near the stranger from the village.

 

He is wearing the same simple cotton clothing as before. He smirks as she approaches him. 

“Where you in the market earlier?” She asks as she leans against the wall, watching the girls chat amongst themselves.

 

“No, I was not.” He answers as he looks away. Isera frowns, feeling certain that she saw him. She shrugs as she breaks off a piece of the honey roll to give to him. “Here.” She mutters as she takes a bite of her piece.

 

Her looks at with surprised, staring at the honey roll still waiting in her hand. She looks back at him. “Are…you going to take it?” She asks as she moves her hand. 

“Uh…” He hums. “What…is it?” He asks.

 

Isera frowns. “A honey roll…in the shape of a halla horn.” She tells him. “Do they not have honey rolls in the north?” She asks with confusion.  She practically grew up on honey rolls.

The man slowly takes the pastry from her hand. He studies the sweet cake. Isera begins laughing, watching him analyze the food. “It tastes good!” She exclaims, annoyed with his delay. “Just try it!” She bites into her piece, shaking her head as she chews trying to show him the delicious taste.

 

He glances at her, uncertainty in his eyes as he slowly takes a bite. Isera stares at him as he slowly chews, processing the taste and texture. He begins nodding, confirming that the pastry does, indeed, taste good. Isera grins with delight.

“These are quite delicious.” He confirms. “Where did you find these?” He asks.

 

“They are sold in the market place,” Isera tells him before turning her attention back to the children.

“Sissy, I am still hunnnngrry!” One of the younger girls cries. Isera can see the distress flash into the older girl’s eyes. She pulls out the half of the honey roll Isera handed her and splits it again for the young girls.

 

Isera frowns, “Siona, my dear. Where is your mamae?” She asks as she sits on the floor next to her. Siona stares up at her, her face blank. “I don’t know.” She answers.

Isera nods. “When did you last see her?” She asks.

 

“A week ago, I think.”

 

“What is her name?” 

“Anise.”

 

Isera feels her body stiffen and heat up at the realization of the girls in front of her belong to Anise, the very woman she helped a week ago. The fact that she has not returned home to care for her children is alarming to Isera.

“Anise?” She murmurs. “She works in the field for Lord Sha’ael, no?”

 

Siona looks up in surprise. “Yes!” She responds. “Do you know my mamae? Do you know where she is at?”

 

“I do know your mamae. But I don’t know where she is.” Isera answers. “But, I’m going to go look for, okay? Would you come with me?” Isera asks. “You can stay with me until your mamae is found.”

Siona frowns. “But she will come here, looking for us. If we leave, she will get worried.”

 

Isera smiles. “I will leave her a note then. She knows me and knows you will be safe, my dear.”

 

Siona continues to frown but agrees. Siona begins gathering the toys for her sisters into a small pack as she prepares to leave.

Isera returns to stand next to the stranger. His eyes follow her, full of curiosity. “Why not contact the authorities?” He asks.

 

Isera glances up at him. “Anise is a slave. The authorities would say that they were abandoned and place them into slavery.”

The stranger frowns. “Why would they put them into slavery? Wouldn’t they look for their mother to reunite them?”

 

Isera looks at the stranger as though he came from another planet. “No. Anise is a slave…she has no rights. Her children aren’t slaves--yet, but because they come from a slave they have no rights either. They would be sold into slavery to collect the debt on Anise.”

“That is not right.” The stranger looks genuinely perplexed and concern.

 

“No shit.” Isera remarks with a caustic tone.

 

“We are ready…” Siona mutters as she comes with a bag placed over her shoulders and holding her sisters by the hands. She is making great attempts to hide her tears and fear from Isera. 

Isera smiles at Siona. “You did a great job, let’s go.”

 

The stranger walks next to her as the girls walk in front of her, chatting away. He is silent as they walk back into the market.

The smell of honey rolls attracts the two younger girls as the squeal. “Can we have another honey roll, miss?” One asks as the approach the stall.

 

Isera smiles. “Of course.” She answers. Isera walks to the stall and purchases five honey rolls. The girls grin and thank her as the immediately begin munching away.

Isera hands the stranger his honey roll, and he takes it. “Thank you,” He murmurs, apparently taken aback by the kind gesture on her part. 

 

“Message for you, my lady!” A messenger approaches her with a beautifully decorated letter. “You have been coordinately invited to the _Mythal’s Vhen'an Ise'melana_.”

Isera takes the letter. “Oh, right. It’s that time of year.” Isera murmurs as she takes the letter, glancing at it.

 

“Mythal’s Summer of Love?” The stranger smirks as he looks over her shoulder at the letter.

“It’s a silly thing nobles do because Mythal is also the Goddess of Love,” Isera states as she tucks the message into her dress pocket. “It is also a convenient way to arrange marriages.”

 

He hums with interest but does not say anything more.

 

Isera turns to him. “Enjoy your honey roll.” She says as she departs with the girls in tow.

\--- 

The servants are entertaining the children as Isera begins contacting her acquaintances trying to find information about the location of Anise. It would take a few days, maybe even weeks for them to get back to her. But they are efficient in finding people. 

“My lady,” Laisa calls to her.

 

Isera is sitting at her desk. “Yes?” She says, looking up from the paper work.

“Your mother would like you to try on a dress for the ball next week.” She tells her as she pulls in the gowns from her closet.

 

Isera groans. “I wasn’t planning on going.” She tells Laisa as she puts the piece of paper down. 

Laisa laughs. “Your mother wouldn’t let you, you know that.” She begins laying the dresses down for Isera look at.

 

“Pick for me,” Isera whines as she stands to look at the dresses.

Laisa hums as she pulls her favorite. It is a white and light pink dress with an A-line bodice. The sleeves are attached to the collar by golden chains and shoulder coverings. The first layer of fabric is a sheer, light pink fabric. It opens at the waist revealing a cream color skirt with golden pelts shimmering down.

 

“It has armor on it?” Isea questions as she filled with the metal pieces.

“My lady, if I may be so bold, you are a challenging young woman. This dress will show your softer side with the rosy hues as well as your strength with the metal replicas of armor, decorated with gems of course.” Laisa grins.

 

Isera smirks as she turns to her. “You minx!” She exclaims. “You are enjoying my behavior, aren’t you? Mother would greatly disapprove.”

Laisa giggles. “I would never encourage such behavior, my lady. I simply desire to show case all your assets!”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note the change in rating from T to M!
> 
> Enjoy the smutty goodness ~

Isera is standing awkwardly in the corner of the ballroom. She moves every few minutes to avoid suitors who would like to dance with her. She has developed quite of the reputation for herself. Headstrong, vocal, and passionate. This either terrifies men or increases their desire to obtain her for conquest.

“Lady Isera!” A young woman calls to her. Isera has forgotten her name.

 

Isera smiles. “Oh, hello!” She answers as she attempts to walk past the woman. 

The woman grabs her arm. “Wait!” She shouts, with giggles. Isera can smell the sweet scent of champagne wafting off of her.

 

“We haven’t seen each other since university!” The woman states with glee. Isera didn’t socialize much during her time at university and is unable to recall this woman. The woman’s eyes are drawn away. “Oh look at him. He is quite delectable, don’t you agree?” She motions behind Isera.

Isera turns to see the man she dreamt about standing on the other side of the ballroom surrounded by eight other people, whom she has never seen before. Isera quickly looks away before she makes eye contact with him. She is unable to mask her confusion at the sight of him. It is impossible. He cannot be real.

 

The woman glances at her with concern. “Oh! Did I offend you? If you have claimed him, I meant no offense.” She apologizes.

Isera shakes her head. “He’s all yours.” She mutters as she pulls away from the woman. The woman grins as she rushes towards the man.

 

Isera flees in the other direction; her mind is attempting to make sense of it all. She snatches a glass of champagne from a silver platter before disappearing into the crowd. She forces herself to push the man out of her mind. Her contacts got back to her sooner than she expected. They are meeting her here.

She downs her glass as she wanders into the servant’s area as the bell rings. That is her cue. She disappears behind the door. She walks past the kitchen and into the garden nearby. Her body feels lighter after departing the ballroom. Isera is not one for crowds or dancing.

 

She waits by the pond for her contact to arrive.

“It is a lovely night for a dance, no?” A servant with a platter of petite cakes and champagne approaches her.

 

“Oh quite. Romance, love affairs, and secrets to uncover.” Isera responds, taking a petite cake off of the platter and a glass of champagne.

 

“Dirthamen must be enjoying uncovering such secrets to add to his knowledge.” 

“I’m sure, he is. Perhaps he will guide a woman into the arms of another?”

 

“Ah.” The servant hums. “I hear he is fond of darkness, particularly underground. It could be romantic with the right settling--bundles of wheat for growth, wine, and flowers of course.” 

“Oh, I’m sure such a place is hard to find.”

 

“Only when you don’t look down.”

“Of course. Clever is the Keeper of Secrets and Knowledge.” Isera responds before taking her leave. If she understood the message right, Anise is being kept underground on her master’s land. The question is, where exactly is the door to this underground facility.

 

Isera wanders back into the chateau. She spots the man from her dreams chatting with one of the people he arrived with. She is taller than most women and wears a skintight white dress that flows onto the ground. It sparkles with every movement. Her head is adorned with a five pointed tiara that reminds Isera of a dragon. Her dark hair is knotted to the side for an eloquent braid.

Some women are attempting to get his attention, but he is paying them no mind.

 

Three of his companions are hovering by a banister, overlooking the dance floor with amusement. One has hair white as a halla’s fur, as she stands close to the red haired woman, their arms linked as they chat. The juxtaposition of their styles draws Isera in momentarily.

The white-haired woman glitters with every shift in her movements, a more ethereal glow about her, whereas the red-haired woman appears darker more caliginous feel about her. The man next to them looks bored and uninterested in the event as he finishes off another glass, he is staring at the woman next to the man from her dreams.

 

Two men that are walking the room look like twins, but Isera is unsure. But they are wearing similar outfits. 

The final two men have been staring the architecture of the room for the last five minutes. Well, one anyway. The other looks like he is humoring the interest of the other man. Isera cocks her head in confusion at the sight.

 

Isera took too much time observing them. Three men approach her with grins. She knows they are from prominent families. “Lady Isera,” One asks as he bows. “May I have this dance?” He asks.

“I would like a dance as well, Lady Isera.” Echoes the other.

 

“I as well.” Echoes the third.

Isera smiles tightly. She reluctantly agrees to the dance. The music begins again as the first man takes her by the hand and leads her to the dance floor. She catches the eye of the man from her dreams—he is frowning, looking displeased at the sight of her.

 

Isera looks down as her dance partner spins her around. He is trying to talk to her, but Isera gives him minimal responses. But she smiles every so often and he seems pleased with that. He is a hunter from Andruil’s sect. He form is…formable, and he is not hard on the eyes.

But Isera is uncomfortable and uninterested. It is evident he is seeking conquest, and she is not something to be conquered.

 

Finally, the song ends, and he escorts her off the dance floor next to the man from her dreams, apparently pulling her off in the opposite side of the dance floor as a tactic to slow his friends down.

Her former dance partner grabs her arm, “Lady Isera,” her dance partner calls. “I would like to invite you out to dinner. Does tomorrow work for you?” He asks.

 

Isera’s eyebrows furrow as she stares at him. “No…” she answers. She attempts to pull her arm back, but he does not let go. 

“Oh! Are you busy then?” He asks, his grip loosening. “Perhaps the following day?”

 

Isera hums as she glances through the sea of faces. “No.” She responds again. The suitor is clearly not used to be rejected. His face is flushed as he steps closer to her. Isera has a visceral reaction to the invasion of her space as she instinctively puts her arm between her and the man. 

“Stop trying to intimidate me,” Isera call him out, stepping back from him.

 

“The lady gave you her answer.” The voice is familiar. Isera glances up to see the man from her dreams stepping into the fray. She quickly looks away from embarrassment as memories from her dream flood her consciousness. 

The former dance partner scowls before turning away. 

“Are you okay?” He asks her, his hand hovering just over her shoulder in an attempt to show compassion without violating her space.

 

Isera refuses to look up. “Oh, yes.” She responds with a forced cheerfulness. “Thank you.” She turns to walk away, but he steps closer.

“If you are interested, may I have this dance?” He asks.

 

Isera glances up at him. He looks exactly like the man from her dreams. He is staring at her with a soft smile, as though not to scare her off. She was able to run away. 

“If not, perhaps a drink will suffice?” He offers. His hand is still out waiting. Isera feels as though the whole room is looking at her. Isera had heard the whispers. Many girls were interested in him, yet he had ignored them all, declining their offer to dance.

 

Yet, here he is, offering his hand to dance. With her.

“A dance sounds nice.” She answers as she takes his hand. His soft smile turns into a smirk as he leads her to the dance floor.

 

Her fingers brush against his locks as she places her hands on his shoulder, with her hand being held by his. His free hand rests on her waist as he leads the dance with ease. 

“Are you enjoying your evening?” He asks as he spins her around.

 

Isera looks up at him as he pulls her back. “Quite so.” She answers. “Are you?” She asks. Her heart is pounding in her chest as she fights to bury the images of her dream.

 

“Tonight has been quite interesting.” He responds. 

Isera feels like she is being consumed in his eyes. “I don’t believe I have seen you around. Are you from here?” She asks as he lifts her with the music.

 

“No, from the north.” He answers as he spins her again. As the music slows to a stop, he takes her hand and brings it to his mouth, kissing the top of her fingers. Isera can feel her cheeks flushing as the action. “Thank you for this dance.” He says as he leads her off the dance floor.

“Come, let us find refreshments.” He announces with enthusiasm. She can feel his excitement as he lifts two glasses of champagne and guides her outside, away from the ball.

 

Isera rests against the railing as she sips her drink. Their shoulders are touching as he stares up at the sky watching the colors dance above him. She turns to look at him. “I don’t believe I caught your name?” She states.

He turns to look at her with a smirk on his face. “Would you like to know my name?” He asks as he turns to face her.

 

Isera blinks. “I just asked you.” She responds, eyebrows furrowing at his remark in annoyance.

 

“Fen’harel.”

Isera’s face falls, unamused by his answer. “Did Banreas put you up to this?” She demands. Banreas would encourage his friends to prank her, pretending to be a God!  “What is your real name?”

 

The grins broaden as he begins laughing. He finds her reaction amusing. “You can call me Solas.” He tells her as he leans in closer. “And what shall I call you, my Lady?”

“You can call me Isera.” She mimics his wording before looking away.

 

He smiles. “Well, Isera” her name flows sweetly off his tongue. She turns to stare at him her body tingling at his voice. “I must say, I find you rather enchanting.” He tells her.

Isera can feel her face heat up at the unexpected proclamation. “Oh!” She gasps. “Thank you.” She looks away from his intense, yet desired stare.

 

“Should you return to your companions?” She asks, her voice higher in her attempt to redirect the conversation.

“My companions are quite well. Enjoying themselves, I’m sure. We find these events…interesting.” He murmurs as he runs his fingers through her hair.

 

“Interesting is a nice way of saying pointless.” Isera remarks as she turns to face him once more.

He looks thoughtfully at her. “I’m sure the men and woman being bedded are quite enjoying their time.”

 

Isera snorts. “You aren’t wrong there.” She answers. 

He grins at her. Isera hums to herself for a moment. “Are you hungry?” She asks, “because I am.” She answers.

 

He pushes himself off of the banister. “Come!” He says with a grin as he goes to walk back into the chateau.

“Oh no,” Isera responds, walking away from the chateau. Solas turns and is quick to follow her.

 

“Where are we going?” He asks as he walks next to her.

“To the kitchen,” Isera answers with a grin. She knows the food closer to the kitchen is fresher than what is sitting in the vestibule. She also does not want to face the crowd, but he doesn’t need to know that.

 

When they arrive at the kitchen, Isera tells Solas to wait outside while she goes in. He frowns but listens to her. 

Isera sneaks into the kitchen, snatching an unopen bottle of champagne and a bowl of frilly cakes before the servants notice her. Isera makes her way back out to the garden and Solas is still standing where she left him. 

“Let’s go!” She giggles as she hands him the bottle of champagne before she begins to run off. She hears him follow her after a second of consideration. She runs across a bridge and into the forest, stopping when she sees the river.

 

She turns to see if Solas kept up with her and is surprised that he did. Isera smiles broaden when she sees him dash through the bushes after her.

Isera begins climbing a low tree branch that sits over the water, the bowl of frilly cakes in hand. “Come on!” She calls to him as she sits down, the bottom of her dress touching the river below.

 

He smirks up at her as he follows her, his bare feet moving deftly as he climbs and sits next to her.

Isera begins eating the frilly cakes as she passes one to Solas. He stares down at it. She watches as he observes the pastry and she recalls her experience a week ago with the homeless man she keeps running into.

 

“Do people in the north not eat sweets?” She asks. “This man I know is also from the north, and he did not understand what a honey roll was!” She laughs at the idea of it.

 

Solas turns to her. “Honey rolls? Those are quite delicious. I prefer the ones in the shape of the halla’s horn.” He shares as he pops a frilly cake in his mouth a grin forming.

Isera jumps slightly with excitement. “Me too!” She exclaims with a smile. She eats another frilly cake. “What city are you from?” She asks, looking at him. “Arlathan?”

 

He seems surprised to hear the name. “Yes. I was born in a village near there.” He answers. “But I have moved to Arlathan.” He takes another frilly cake. “Are you from here?” He questions her, nibbling on the small cake.

Isera shakes her head no. “We moved here when I was a small child. I was born in the north, near a coastal village.” She tells him before taking another frilly cake.

 

“Have you ever been to Arlathan and visited the Temples?” He asks.

Isera rolls her eyes. “My mother is a high priest of Mythal. I have been to all the temples at one point or another.” She pauses in thought. “They are nicer in the north. Everything is nicer in the north.” She hums before consuming another frilly cake.

 

“Have you?” Isera looks at him, “been to the Temples?” she asks. 

“Yes,” he answers. “I like the history behind it.” He smiles, recalling his time in the temple.

 

“The lore?” She responds. “I suppose it is interesting.” Isera swings her legs back and forth recalling the stories of the Gods.

“Do you know it?” He asks, turning slightly to look at her.

 

“The lore?” She repeats. “Who doesn’t know? Mythal rose from the water, calmed Elgar’nan, they had sex and had six kids who taught the People. And Andruil took one of the People to become a God too—to help the People navigate the land and sea.”

Solas howls with laughter at the announcement. “Is that so?” He asks with a grin, taking another frilly cake.

 

“That’s the lore!” Isera emphasizes with a grin. “The north does not differ that much from the south! What stories are you talking about?” She asks taking another frilly cake. 

He looks at her and presses his finger against his lips. “It’s a secret.” He tells her as he takes the last frilly cake. Isera looks at him, grinning but also thinking that he is ridiculous. She passes the empty crystal bowl to him as she takes the champagne.

 

She struggles for a moment trying to open the bottle. The top of the bottle explodes from the pressure, spilling champagne down her arm and onto her legs. Isera squeals in surprise. “Oh, shoot!” She whines at the loss of beverage.

Solas continues to smile at her.

 

She takes a drink before passing the bottle to him. He takes the bottle and taking a drink as well. They talk for most of the time, passing the bottle between them. Finally, Isera turns to look at him. “If you are from Arlathan, why did you come to the southern celebration?” She asks she has a slight buzz from the drink. 

He looks at her, pausing before replying. “We are visiting the southern region.” He answers.

 

“Oh.” She replies accepting his response. There is a chill settling in the air, her eyelids feel heavy, and the bottle is now empty.

“Should we head back?” He asks noticing the change in her demeanor.

 

“Hmmm.” She hums. “Yeah,” she yawns. Solas stands first, with little issue as he balances on the branch, jumping into the sandy shore. Isera, with the bottle in hand, goes to follow but her dress catches on the branch, and she falls into the water below. 

Isera feels her whole body screaming from the sudden change in temperature. She emerges from the water, pushing her hair out of her face. Solas is standing on the shore with a shocked look on his face.

 

She stands in the water silently. The only warm part of her body is her cheeks, red and hot from embarrassments.

His face turns from shock to a grin. “Do you have an affinity for water?” he asks, his tone teasing and playful as he begins walking into the water to assist her.

 

Isera looks away keeping her face flat as possible. “I like being wet.” She responds, glancing up at his face to see his reaction.

Solas froze midway through his way to her. One hand is stretched out to grab her, his cheeks are reddened, and there is a gleam in his eye that Isera recognizes as desire.

 

She is unable to suppress her mischievous grin.

Solas slowly blinks. “Well, I could have assisted with that.” He turns his palm open, motioning for her come to him and take his hand. Isera smirks up at him, obediently moving to take his hand.

 

When they are out of the water, Solas pulls her close. “Close your eyes.” He whispers. “Wrap your arms around me." 

Isera wraps her arms around his waist, feeling the slight bulge against her body, as she closes her eyes and presses her face into his chest. His arms wrap around her shoulders.

 

She feels cold and dizzy as though she was just shaken around. The tingle of magic is against her skin.

“You can open your eyes.” He whispers, pulling back.

 

Isera pulls away in surprise. “How did we--?” She gasps in shock and dizziness. They are no longer in the forest, but in a room with a fire burning. Theoretically, the concept of traveling without the assistance of an eluvian for long distance is…impossible.

“Did you…just…teleport?” She whispers in awe as she looks around the room. He just grins and doesn’t answer the question.

 

“That…is amazing—“ Isera frowns, “that…is impossible… really.” She begins trying to break down the concept of teleportation over the large area, eyebrows furrowing in concentration, mumbling to herself in thought. While it is possible to travel in short burst in a very short distance, anything more has been shown to be incapable.

Solas is staring down at her with a broad grin.

 

Isera glances up at him. Suddenly she feels vulnerable. “Why are you smiling?” She asks, feeling embarrassed for being caught up at the moment.

His hand brushes against her arm. “You think I am making fun of you,” He murmurs, stepping closer to her. “That is the farthest from the truth.” He tells her, running his hand through her hair. “Your passionate spirit is…enthralling.”

 

His lips are on hers, his tongue darting against her lips, asking for entrance. His fingers are laced through her hair. Isera grips his arms as she opens her mouth. His smells of chocolate and amber and she finds it intoxicating. 

His fingers trail down her back, plucking at the strings of her corset. Isera, in return, begins pulling at the buttons on his white tunic. She feels hot against the coolness of her wet dress as she pulls his shirt off.

 

His lips trail onto her neck, nipping gently as he pushes her dress down. Isera unclips the clasps resting on her neck, allowing the metal and fabric to fall free with a quiet clink. Solas helps her out of her dress, his hands feeling warm against her chilled skin.

The tips of his fingers trace the swell of her breast, as he guides her backward and onto the bed. He gently pushes her onto the bed as his mouth trace down her neck onto one of her nipples. He flicks the bud with his tongue as the tips of his fingers trail down her stomach. His hand slide between her legs, his fingers becoming slick with each movement.

 

Isera moans, spreading her legs wider as his fingers insert into her. His thumb rubs against her clit. He stares into her eyes as he hovers over her. She holds onto his shoulders with every thrust of his hand, moaning louder as the speed picks up. 

Solas ignore the throbbing his pants as he slides onto the floor. His mouth is on her, teasing and flicking her clit. Isera whimpers in pleasure as she laces her fingers into his locks. He slows down, enjoying her whines of protest and desire, his tongue slowly dancing against her.

 

She feels dizzy and breathless. He moves away, pulling her forward, his lips claiming hers once more.

Isera pulls back, giving him space onto the bed, tucking on the edge of his pants. She _wants_ him.

 

He steps out of his pants and kneels onto the bed. Isera links her legs onto his thighs as he leans into her and slides into her. Isera groans, arching her back as she bucks her hips to meet his. Skin slaps together, the air is thick with desire and sweat. His head is tucked into her the crevice of her neck and should, biting her. 

Isera tilts her head for him to have greater access, the mix of pleasure and pain only increasing her desire for him. He takes turns biting and sucking her neck, one hand laced through her hair tugging every so often. With each moan from her lips, he pulls harder on her hair.

 

Her nails drag against his back, encouraging him to go faster. One of her hands traces down, and she slaps his ass before roughly dragging her nails back up. Solas grunts, closing his eyes in pleasure. He frees his hand from her hair and reaches down placing the pads of his fingers against her clit.

Isera feels her jolt with electricity, her body tingling with intense pleasure. Her body tenses as she feels her body explode with pleasure as moans loudly, gripping Solas as she comes.

 

Her body convulses in spasms of unadulterated bliss.

Solas is leaning over her panting. He chuckles to himself. “I may have been too eager with the magic,” he tells her with a smirk. He is right. The intense burst of energy resulted from both of them coming before they truly wanted to.

 

Isera lets out a breathily laugh, her body still reacting to her orgasm. “It’s…it’s fine.” She murmurs. She can’t muster the energy to say anything. But that felt good. She felt amazing and vibrant. Isera has had sex before. It was lackluster—she never got off, and no one has done that trick before with the magic.

Solas rolls to the side, drawing the blanket over them and lays down. His fingers trace from her neck, across her jawline, and to her temple. “Sleep,” he tells her, and she is consumed with darkness.


	5. Chapter 5

Isera wakes before he does. She quietly climbs out of bed and gathers her dress. She is panicking in her mind trying to figure out how to get home. The dress is stiff from the river water and has an unpleasant smell. She also doesn’t know where she is exactly.

 

“Sneaking out?” A low grumble from Solas.

Isera squeaks in surprise turning to face him. “Well…” She murmurs, pausing in thought trying to make up an excuse. “well, yes.” She finally admits with a nervous laugh. She doesn’t regret her encounter with him. She finds him enjoyable both in the sheet and out. But she wants to go home.

 

His naked form rises from the bed, stretching his limbs as he walks towards her. “You may want to change into something other than the dress.” He pauses, looking down at her, his gray eyes sparkling. “Unless you would prefer to return home garmentless?” 

Isera hums, her cheeks redden as she shakes her head. “I would like garments.” She answers, her voice strained. She stands naked in his bedroom making little effort to cover herself in front him.

 

He hums with a smirk. “Such a shame. You are lovely to look at.” He tells her before disappearing out of the room

Isera covers her face in embarrassment. He has dusted only a handful of compliments about her a few times since they met, but she finds his flattery potent. When he looks at her, it is as if she is the only woman he sees at the moment.

 

He returns with a dress for her. The dress is simple but unquestionably made of high-quality fabric. It is deep red in color and stops at her calves. Isera quickly puts on the dress before turning to look at him. “You’re a flatterer.” She tells him.

Solas is laying in the bed still naked. He looks at her a smirk forming on his face. “You are the only one I have flattered.”

 

“Ever?” She gives a dramatic gasp. “I’m the first? Do I win a prize?” She retorts with a grin as she puts a belt around her waist.

He chuckles. “You are the prize.” He answers with a grin.

 

Isera freezes at the compliment. “I’m going to leave now.” She announces as she rubs her cheek in an attempt to hide the fluttering she is feeling.

He stands. “I’ll show you to the eluvian.” He announces as he goes to walk out the door.

 

“No, you won’t.” Isera orders. “Put pants on!” She demands, looking at him like he is crazy. Solas looks back at her his grin widening. He doesn’t answer her. Rather, he walks back and puts on a pair of pants. He looks at her, throws his arms out and bows. “Is this acceptable, my lady?” He questions.

Isera rolls her eyes. “Come on,” she demands as she walks out of the room. Solas walks next to her guiding her to the mirror. They stop in front of the mirror and Solas takes her hand and bringing it up to his lips. “Until we meet again, my lady.” He kisses the top of her hand.

 

“Good day, Solas.” Isera smiles as she steps through the eluvian.

\---

Isera doesn’t go home. Instead, she heads to Lord Sha’ael estate to see if she can decode the riddle given to her by the servant. She is flying overhead as a raven, looking down at the chateau trying to spot something that looks like an entrance underground. She can’t find anything.

That means the entrance is within the castle’s grounds. It is unlikely that Lord Sha’ael would willingly let her into his home. Isera has made her reputation by impacting the slave trade. Her mother is one of the high priestess leading to end slavery. Even if he were to let him into his own, she would be watched at all times

 

Lord Sha’ael is clever in his own right. He is also extremely paranoid. He would have hidden entrances into the chateau that are nearby for an easy exit and to be constantly watched. Golden wheat. The voice of servant rings in her mind. 

The entrance is somewhere in the wheat field? The only issue is the wheat field is a large span of land. What Isera knows of Lord Sha’ael from the court is he is hyper fixated on perfection and control. He needs to have a say in everything and has to be able to see everything before approval.

 

This leads her to believe the entrance into the underground would be closer to the estate rather than farther. He simply would not be able to leave the entrance unattended for an extended period of time. He, no one else, would be able to check on it. If the entrance were too far, it would impact time, thus affecting his control over his land.

Isera lands in a nearby tree.

 

 Lord Sha’ael’s estate is primarily agriculture with the focus on wheat. He has a small lake nearby that she only saw him go to on many occasion when she had been secretly healing the slaves. There are nearby silos for storage of the grain and a barn for the processing of the plant. 

‘For him to put an entrance in the storage facility or within the barn would be most useful—it can be used as an intimidation tact to make the slaves fear him more.’ Isera thinks to herself. ‘But, he is not one for blunt intimidation…he likes the idea of the unknown on his side.’

 

Isera squawks in surprise as she takes off flying to the lake on his property. She circles above the lake, looking for any magical enchantments to mask something more sinister. The lake does reflect with magic. It isn’t unusual; however, as the Veil presses upon the world leaving the residue of magic everywhere.

Isera takes a chance. She dives straight into the water in her winged form. She is suspended in liquid for a moment as she is still using the momentum downwards. Isera is trying to suppress her panic—birds are not meant to swim.

 

After a minute, Isera falls through the barrier of water and lands on the ground. She instinctively turns into her humanoid. She begins coughing. “Oh, that is clever.” She mutters to herself. Lord Sha’ael probably parts the water when leading slaves down here to show them his power, just like the stories of Mythal who rose from the water to calm Elgar’nan. 

It’s a power tactic used to control the slaves. For he would be seen as touched by the Gods to be able to part the water. The slaves would not know it is a clever trick of the eye. They do not receive training in magic.

 

She looks up, the water is reflective, and she can see the animal life swimming above her. Isera mutters to herself, cursing Lord Sha’ael as she walks to the unguarded entrance to the grotto.

The cave smells like fear and decaying flesh. She can see the blood stained stones as she walks deeper into the fissure. She can feel the dark magic soaked in these stones—Lord Sha’ael has been performing blood magic.

 

Isera opens a door and sees Anise sitting beaten and bloody in a cage next to eight more slaves. Isera rushes forward, sticking her hands through the bars. “Anise? Anise!” Isera calls to her, reaching out.

Anise slowly looks up. Her eyes and cheeks are hollowed, and skin is pale. Isera can see the various bruises on her arms and legs in an arrange of healing stages.

 

“Lady Isera…?” Anise murmurs in confusion. “You…can't possibly be here…” She coughs. She crawls to Isera, her hands gripping Isera’s arms. “You are so warm…” She whispers.

“Anise…what has happened?” Isera asks, her hands brushing against Anise’s cheek. Anise’s skin is sticky and clammy. There is no light in her eyes.

 

“He took us…drained us.” She whispers. “He wants our souls…please, my lady, do not leave us here.” Anise begs. 

Isera would never leave them here. She takes a step back, calling to the Fade to circle the bars of the prison. Once the Fade encompasses the bars, Isera releases the spell, watching the bars being consumed by the very Fade itself.

 

Lord Sha’ael is not an idiot, by any means. He clearly had charmed the bars with magic to prevent the slaves from touching it or leaning against them. But when one compares his magic to the power of the Fade and to Isera’s ability…he is no match.

Isera carries Anise against her shoulder, supporting much of her weight. The other slaves do the same, moving slowly following Isera.

 

Isera comes to a stop. There is no possible way for her to rescue the slaves in this state. They are too weak to run. The only way for her to get to the location she needs to be at is to…it suddenly dawns onto Isera that she can walk the Fade. Theoretically, anyway.

It is said that those who are i've'an'amelan have their powers so ingrained in the Fade and the Veil that with enough training that can walk the Fade, as almost as if they were Gods. Isera ignored that information long ago. The idea to physically walk in the Fade seemed blasphemous.

 

The Fade is meant for spirits, not physical beings. Power like that does not exist she told herself. It was rhetoric created by the Keepers to have the People fear and admire their power.

Isera knows how to bring the Fade into the living world. She just did it to free the captives. But to bring the Fade into the living world as a portal for the use of travel? Even she questions if she has the power to do so.

 

But if she wants to live…if she wants these slaves to live…she has to.

Isera stills her mind. She calls to the spirits she knows, those who have helped her over the years. Slowly, one by one, they come. Compassion, Command, Justice, Faith, and more show. Then the largest presence all. Her silent visitor. It is here to help.

 

It is impossible for Isera to protect the slaves from the elements of the Fade, whatever they are. The spirits will guide them. Protect them with her. She can hold the path to the destination she needs, but anything else is out of her range of power.

Isera slowly pulls at the Veil. It is like pulling on the thread of a tapestry. Pull too hard, and you destroy the image. It takes longer that Isera would like, but she cannot risk ripping the Veil open. Once she is comfortable with the opening, Isera asks the spirits to guide the slaves in.

 

She watches as the encompass the slaves—they walk with the slaves draped over them like a cloak.

Her silent watcher waits for her. It desires to walk with her.

 

Isera takes Anise and walks through the gateway, the presence of the spirit against her back.  Relief floods Isera when she steps into the Fade. Everyone is still safe. She can see the spirits better than before. They look like floating skeletons, wispy and colorful with their barriers around the slaves.

They stand behind each slave, guiding them to where Isera needs them. Isera cannot see her silent companion, it stands behind her, pushing her forward.

 

The Fade is blurred for her. In one blink, it is green and scary, and in the next, it is white and peaceful. Isera can feel her energy draining. She is bleeding from the inside. She can feel the warm liquid coming from her eyes like tears.

The spirits push the slaves back through the Veil.

 

Isera and Anise collapse in the real world. Isera feels drained, but she doesn’t have time to regain energy. They are in a forest in front of an altar for Fen’harel. There is an eluvian in the middle. Isera chose this alter, that was long since abandoned, because of Fen’harel’s namesake—he is the God of Rebellion.

Isera opens the eluvian with a wave of her head and pushes each slave through the mirror. They have made it safely on the other side—to freedom.

 

Isera closes the eluvian and collapses against it. She used too much magic energy transporting the slaves through the Fade. She touches her face…her nose, and eyes are dripping blood. She almost died from over use of magic. A moment longer and she would have been consumed by the magic from the Fade.

“Lady Isera?” A voice calls to her. Isea lulls her head back, looking at the man who called to her. It is the servant from the ball—her contact.

 

“Oh, hello.” She whispers, blood spilling out of her mouth. She feels numb and tired.

 

“Did you save them?” He asks as he approaches her. 

“Yes.” Isera answers. She is just so tired. She did the impossible and physically walked across the Fade. But even now, she can feel the burn of magic inside her body—the Fade wanted her magic.

 

 He walks up to her, helping her stand. “Thank you,” Isera whispers with a smile. She can taste the copper in her mouth. He is standing in front of her. “That is very good, my lady…” He whispers.

“And I am very sorry…” He adds.

 

A sharp pain comes from her abdomen. Isera gasps in shock and pain as she looks down to see a dagger in her stomach. She watches as the blood soaks her already red dress. She feels the horror and terror fill her at the realization she will die today.

“Why…” Isera sputters out as she looks down at the injury.

 

“They—they took my family…I didn’t—I’m so sorry, my lady!” The man cries as he collapses onto the ground.

 

Her breathing is shallow as she collapses against the eluvian, her hand stained with her own blood.

She stares out into space, coming to peace that this will be how she dies. Alone in an isolated area of Thedas. Isera cannot bring herself to cry—just stares at her injury. She doesn’t have the power to heal herself. Thoughts repeatedly race through her mind— _I’m sorry. I’ve failed you. I’m sorry. I’ve failed you. I’m sorry. I’ve failed you._

 

She watches as the Veil rips open. All she sees are six red eyes before she faints, darkness consuming her mind.


	6. Chapter 6

Her body feels heavy and light at the same time. She feels like she slept too long. Isera groans as she tries to open her eyes. She does not know where she is or how she got here. She pulls herself up from the bed, looking around in a tired haze.

Everything feels…brighter…she feels comfortable.

Isera leaves the bed and looks out the window. She is surrounded by snow-capped mountains, lush fields of wild flowers, and lochs. The colors are intense, yet so beautiful…how has she not noticed this before? The life in every being and creation that world has to offer. 

“You’re awake.” A soft whisper from behind her.

 

Isera turns to see Solas standing in the door way. It dawns on her that she is in his room from the other night. She glances around trying to ordinate herself to her surroundings. 

“Solas…” She murmurs, still trying to get her bearings. Even he looks different than before. There almost is a glow about him that she never noticed before. He is looking at her with concern.

 

“How are you feeling?” He asks as he approaches her. 

Isera turns to look out the window again. “I’m fine…” She answers. She tries sorting her thoughts but struggles. “Solas…I…don't...can’t remember how I got here?” She turns to look at him, eyes marred with confusion.

 

She should be alarmed, but she isn’t.

“I brought you here.” He answers as he steps closer to her. He reaches out to her, his finger brushing gently against her cheek as he leans down to kiss her forehead.

 

Isera leans into him, basking in the sense of the familiar. He is less cocky than before. Something isn’t right. 

“Solas…what is going on?” She asks. She feels fine, but her instincts are telling her something is wrong. She can’t remember how she got here. What is she forgetting?

 

“Isera…” he whispers. “Come, much needs to be shared.” He takes her hand and leads out of the room and down a hall. He guides her into a study that overlooks a large spring that is filled with people.

“I must tell you something…” He says as he walks over to the large window. “But first, I am sorry.” Isera doesn’t answer as she watches him frown. “You are a rare and marvelous spirit. I found myself enchanted by you. You see, we are not meant to come to the People unless called…” He looks at her. “But you never did. First, I lingered as a spirit. You found spirits easier to talk to.”

 

“Then, as a man…to see you for how you are in the other world. You never knew his name, but you were kind to him.” He chuckles. “You showed him the struggles of the People—had him walk the path of those forgotten. Showed him the injustice.”

“The dance seemed like the perfect opportunity to meet you for how I am. I wasn’t sure if you would attend. I was surprised to see you dancing with a suitor. But, even then, you showed how strong you were. When you left…I was certain you would return home. I didn’t know—“ He takes a deep breath.

 

“You are beautiful and astute. You know your worth and saw the value in others. When you called out, I was surprised. You had never reached out to me before. ‘Twas always I to you. I helped push you through the Fade.”

“You see; the Fade is not meant for the living. It took a considerable amount of energy to see you and the captives across to safety. You kept the path, and I kept the Fade’s hunger at bay.” He pauses turning to look at Isera. “I tore open the Veil to save you…I couldn’t—“ His breath hicks for a moment.

 

“I’m sorry…” He says again as he reaches for her.

Isera stares up at him, thinking and recalling what he told. “I died…” Isera whispers. She feels her heart drop at the realization, recalling of her memory. “But you—“ Isera pulls back. “You’re Fen’harel.” She gasps turning away.

 

Isera places on her on her stomach, feeling for the fatal injury but can’t find it. She drops her hands turning to look at him. “You can’t be---you can’t be real. None of this is true.” She cries. “If you are real, then…then I am really dead.” She yells. “I can’t—I wasn’t…”

Solas steps closer to her, pain across his face as he tries to comfort her.

 

“I couldn’t save you, ma vhenan…not in the--” He whispers. His hand grips her face. “I tried. I was too weak…to save you…meant…” He takes a deep breath. “Meant binding you to me…” His voice is low and eyes panicked.

“It was the only way to save your spirit.” He concludes. His hands feel tight on her face; she can feel his desperation sinking into her skin.

 

“The only…the only way to save my spirit?” Isera whispers in horror. “I…I don’t understand, Solas—Fen’harel…whatever you call yourself.”

Fen’harel shakes his head. “Physical beings are not meant to the Fade, ma vhenan.” He answers.

Isera is holding her hands to her head, shaking her head in denial. “No…no…” She murmurs. “This is just a dream—a nightmare. I didn’t die, and you’re not real.” She sputters. “I drank too much…or smoked too much elfroot…I can’t be…dead.”

 

He frowns taking her hand and leads her into another room that is much colder than the library. The room is surrounded by water and in the section on an altar is a body. 

“I am sorry.” He murmurs.

 

As they walk across the water, Isera glances down. The water is reflective like a mirror. She sees the elves fighting. War. But that doesn’t make sense. Does this place show the past? 

She looks back up and realizes that it is not just a body lying on the slab of stone…but her body. Isera looks down in horror.

 

There is something surreal of staring at one’s lifeless body. Her face is covered in body, and the dagger is still pultruding from her stomach. The dagger has the symbol of the Order of the Keepers.

Isera covers her mouth as she begins crying. She reached out to touch herself, but doesn’t. Her hands hover just above her body, but she is too fearful to touch it. 

 

“I retrieved your soul from your body.” He tells her. “I brought you here in an attempt to save you.” He explains.

Isera shakes her head, tears streaming down her face. “Why?” She places her hands on the slab, shaking her head.

 

Fen’harel looks away. “Selfishness.” He whispers. “I could not bear the thought of you leaving this world.” He answers. He reaches out to her, but Isera does not move.

Isera feels numb as she stares at her body unable to speak. After a few minutes, Fen’harel gently guides her out of the room. He is whispering to her, but she can’t hear him.

 

He leads her to a hot spring. Isera can hear the chatting of the other Gods around them. But she pays no mind to them. Fen’harel slowly begins to undress her and himself before carrying her into the warm water.

He holds onto her as he sits down in the water, whispering kind words to her. He runs his fingers through her hair and kisses her temple every so often to relax her. He explains to her that the water is enchanted with magical older than she has ever known. The Gods use it to restore their power. It would assist in relieving her distress.

 

Isera turns to look at him. Her face feels flat, and she feels emotionless. “Am I to be your slave then?” She asks, her voice low. “Because I am bound to you?” She still does not feel like herself. She feels suppressed and dazed. 

Fen’harel shakes his head. “No!” He nearly shouts. “…no…no.” He whispers softly, his fingers tracing her jaw. “I do not seek to control you…I sought to save you.” He answers.

 

Isera finds it strange. She knows she has only known his physical form for a few days. But his spirit…she feels it and recognizes it. His spirit has been with her for almost a year. He is familiar to her, and strangely enough, she feels safe. Or maybe the transition from releasing her soul has impacted her judgement.

Regardless, she feels lost and confused.

 

Slowly, the Gods grow closer to them. Isera can sense their interest and curiosity. She wraps her arms around his waist as they begin talking to him and ignoring her. Fen’harel holds her closer with each approaching God. Isera does not trust them.

Ghilan'nain is silently watching Isera, who is staring off into the water. Slowly, Ghilan'nain unlatches herself from her lover’s embrace. She turns to kiss Andruil before walking toward Fen’harel and Isera.

 

Ghilan'nain sits on the side closer to Isera’s face. “Hello,” She whispers. Isera glances up at her. Ghilan'nain’s long, snowy hair floats around her with her bright, iridescent blue eyes staring unblinkingly at her. 

Andruil follows shortly after. Her fiery burgundy red hair is knotted upon her head, and her golden eyes stare through Isera. The two goddess peel Isera from Fen’harel’s arms, much to his dismay.

 

Isera stares at them in confusion but feels nothing. She looks back at Fen’harel who is frowning at the two Goddess.

Isera tenses as Ghilan'nain brings her into her lap with a soft smile. She is running her fingers through Isera’s hair as she hums to herself. “She’s so pretty,” she whispers to Andruil. Andruil grabs Isera’s face. “Look at her eyes,” She notes. “Almost like pearls!”

 

Ghilan'nain giggles as she begins nibbling on Isera’s ears. 

Isera reacts to the unwanted touch, clawing her way out of the Goddess’s grips. Ghilan'nain whines. “She scratched me!” She announces, showing a thin red line on her wrist.

 

Fen’harel stands and pulls Isera back into his arm. Isera had already begun to rush back to him. There was a spark of anger in the unwanted touch. She moves behind him, placing herself against his back as she feels her emotions returning.

She is confused. She doesn't feel like herself.

 

“You were asking for it, ‘Nai” Isera looks at the person who spoke. “You didn’t ask permission from her.” He states, a piece of plant stem hanging from his mouth.   

Ghilan'nain frowns. “Falon’din is taking the mortal’s side.” She announces with a scowl. She retreats to the arms of her lover clearly displeased with the turn of events

 

Falon’din is…a _te’elgar_. Two-spirit. Isera can feel the calm, yet powerful energy from him. 

 

He is sitting across from them, arms around who Isera assumed was Dirthamen. Now that she sees them in this light, Isera realizes that they are not twins and look nothing alike. Clearly, they are lovers. Falon’din has long hair that is braided back, but the sides of his scalp are shaved. Dirthamin, on the other hand, has short spiky hair.

 

Dirthamin laughs. “You’re just mad because the mortal didn’t fall for your tricks.” 

“Why even bother with the mortal?” A woman with tight raven colored braids asks.

 

“Sylaise, just because you have no interest in the mortals and mortal needs, doesn’t mean we can’t try.” The man who was fascinated with the architecture states with a laugh.

“Watching you flounder is quite enjoyable, June!” Sylaise laughs, splashing him with water. “Is that why I am always your wing woman, and we visit the mortal realm?”

 

June just shrugs and chuckles.

“And yet,” The one with dark black eyes calls, “we stand here with a mortal in our bath. Instead of trying to decide who is going to fuck her, we talk about why she is here?”

 

Isera’s eyes narrow and presses herself harder against Fen'harel. He must be Elgar’nan.

Sylaise bursts into giggles. “I’m not fucking anyone or anything, Elgar’nan! Tis adorable that you all think that is all you should do.”

 

Elgar’nan glares at Sylaise before turning his stare to Isera.

 

“She is no longer mortal.” The one who reminded Isera of a dragon speaks. “What did you do, Dread Wolf?” She demands. Mythal.

Isera can feel him stiffen against her body. “I saved her.” He answers.

 

Mythal frowns, shaking her head. “The rules are there for reasons, Wolf.” She hisses before turning her glare to Andruil. “Remember last time we took one of the mortals?”

Andruil grins with a false sense of bashfulness as she wraps her arm around Ghilan’nain.

 

“I do.” He answers. “However, I broke no rules.” He shares.

 

Mythal glares at him. “You found an excuse.” She shakes her head.

“The rules declare that we are not to take the People, as Andruil did. Andruil took Ghilan’nain out of anger from the People who she felt betrayed her. She felt that the People no longer deserved her.” Fen’harel explains. “I did no such thing. Thus, I did not break the rules.”

 

Isera watches as they explode into a heated argument over the People. Bringing up old blood and history, failed interactions with the People. Then she hears that there is a war starting. The argument over the war continues for minutes before Isera pulls away from Fen’harel. 

“That is all we are to you? Toys that can be played with until your bored and attempt to sow chaos? The People pray to you…and you sit behind the Veil drinking honeyed wine enjoying the show?” Isera shouts in anger. The Gods are nothing more than glorified nobles.

 

Ghilan’nain leans forward. “You can become one of us, Isera.” Her voice is sweet. “I was one of the People once.” She says, sitting between the legs of her lover.

“Where you?” Isera wonders. “You sit here, drunken in love, while the People suffer. What did you give up to become a God? Your humanity?” She states with bitterness. “Our legends say you were chosen from the People who join the Gods—you are our halla, but you are not one of the People. You have forgotten the very meaning of being Elvhen.”

 

Isera can see Ghilan’nain has taken offense. Isera sighs running her hand through her hair. “I am not a God. I do not belong here.” She turns to Fen’harel. “My place…my duty is with the People. If I am surely dead, then let me pass into the Beyond. I do not wish to see what becomes of the People.” She leaves the hot springs, grabbing her clothing on the way out. 

Fen’harel is close behind her.

 

“Isera…” He calls to her. “Wait…” He grabs her by her arm.

Isera turns to him as she throws on her clothing. He looks panicked-stricken and worried. “There are other ways. Please, ma vhenan.” He begs. “I can’t bear the thought of losing you.” He whispers pulling up his pants.

 

Isera shakes her head. “You don’t understand, do you?” She questions staring up at him. “I don’t know you, not the real you--you call me your heart, yet you would seek me to stay here with you? While the People suffer?” Isera gasps as she blinks back her tears. “I will not follow blindly because of love. I will not throw away the very person I am for _you_.” 

“I am not asking you too.” He whispers. “You are right—we have never walked the path of the Elvhen. I never have…not until you.” He pauses, taking a deep breath. “If you truly wish to go into the Beyond…” His voice is full of pain. “I will set you free…but I can help you return to the realm of mortals.”

 

Isera studies his reaction. She is dead. She cannot return to the mortal world. There is no amount of magic that can return the dead to the living. “What is the price, Dread Wolf?”

“You must become a God.” He announces. “You’re not dead, not just yet. You are still tethered to your body, in a sense.” He attempts to explain. “If I return your body to the realm of mortals, you surely will die. But if you let me, mold your body into a spirit, just as Andruil did millennia ago you can return to the world and help the Elvhen people.”

 

Isera looks away. “How do you know I will not forget who I am?” She asks. She knows deep down that there is more she needs to do for the People. That her life was cut short. But she will not take power offered if it means tossing aside what is important to her.

Fen’harel shakes his head. His hands gently reach up to Isera’s face and pull her closer. “Ghilan’nain chose to leave the People behind out of anger and spite.” He whispers. “You are different than her. You can be the God we failed to be. You can show me…”

 

Isera sighs thinking of her options. All she has ever done with her life is trying to help the People. She has two choices: go to the Beyond or to become a God to help the People. She sighs again shaking her head. If she truly can return to the People... “On one condition.” She announces staring up at him.

 

Fen’harel pulls back. “Of course.”

“If I am to be a God, then I want to be…molded into something the People are familiar with. That way they know that I will guide them in times of need.” She tells him before pausing.

 

Fen’harel chuckles with a grin. “Perhaps a halan'ghillan? A golden halla?” He answers thoughtfully.

She nods. “I want to make Ghilan’nain angry. A golden halla would irritate her.” Isera clucks in annoyance.

 

He chuckles. “I can do that.” He looks down at her, his eyes sparkling with delight. He leans down to kiss her softly on the lips. 

“Come on,” she murmurs against him. “We have work to do.”

 

\---

He looks at her as his hand hovers over Isera’s physical form. “Are you certain this is what you want to do?” He asks.

 

Isera looks at him and nods. “Yes.” The price of her life is to touch the People in a greater capacity than before. This is a deal that she feels is worth the sacrifice. She will not hide behind the Veil, a silent watcher as the People suffer. 

Isera watches him as he crafts her once physical form into the golden halla. One would think this process would be horrific and gruesome. But it is as though her body is like clay—Fen’harel moves with a stillness about him.  

He makes the form larger than a normal halla with a shining golden pelt and brown fur and hooves. The beautifully twisted horns are stronger than that of a silver halla and start as beige and fade into brown at the tips.

 

Fen’harel takes his time with his creation, ensure it is to his love’s desire. He treated her body with care, turning every so often to ensure she was happy.

She doesn’t know if she should grieve for her physical form. Perhaps the reality of no longer being mortal has not struck its blow. That she is no longer one of the People. But she will do more than she could before. This is a blessing and a curse. Isera’s only desire is to make the People proud.

 

“It is done.” He announces, turning to look at her. “There is one step left, my love.” He tells her. “We must put your soul, your essence into this creature. You will be one with her and she with you.” His voice is soft as to not startle her.

 

Isera looks up him in fear. “Will it hurt?” She asks. He smiles. “No. It will be just like you went to sleep and woke up.”

“I’m still scared.” She tells him as she pets the golden halla. The fur is soft. She begins walking around the animal—it looks real and alive. Isera’s hand rests on the nose of the beast. She can feel the soft breathing from the animal onto her hand. 

 

Fen’harel steps closer to her, his hands resting on her shoulders. “I will be guiding you. I cannot rid you of your worries, but know that you are safe.” He kisses her on top of her head.

Isera nods. “Okay…let’s proceed.” She responds with a false sense of confidence.

 

He pulls out the gemstone her spirit is bound to, a moonstone. He explains to her the process. He will put her soul into the gemstone and place it into the golden halla. Once that is complete, she will have the title of God, forever bond to him as he is to her. She will be Halan'ghillan.


	7. Chapter 7

Isera awakens in a field of flowers. She feels no different than before. She sits up, wondering if it was all a dream. But she senses him from behind, Fen’harel. She turns to look at him—he is decorated in golden armor of the temple sentinels with his wolf’s skull upon his head.

 

She feels her body clinks with metal as she sits up. She is wearing a similar armor with a golden pelt tied around her shoulders. She turns to look at him and in his hands is the skull of the halla adorn with golden enchanted jewelry.

 

“What is that?” She asks as she stands.

 

Fen’harel stands closer to her. He looks prideful with a grin upon his face. “A helm for you,” He answers. The halla horns were dipped in gold and then let drop down to the skull and despite the macabre appearance, actually looked rather unusual.

 

Isera nods, looking at the skull. “You wanted to match.” She states plainly, taking the helm into her hands. Fen’harel grins as he leans down to kiss her.

 

“Possibly.” He chimes. “Or perhaps riding onto the field of battle with a skull on your head will strike fear into your enemies.” He adds with enthusiasm. Isera rolls her eyes. She places the skull onto her head, and it covers the center of her face. Her cheeks and her eyes are still visible.

 

Fen’harel assists in securing the skull in place that she could quickly push it up when she desired.

 

“Come,” he says. “Your mother is one leading the fight. She is in the Temple of Mythal.” Isera nods as he wraps his arms around her teleporting them to the inner sanctum of Mythal. The effect of the magic does not bother her this time.

 

“Do you know our enemy?” Isera asks when they arrive. They have appeared in an unoccupied room, but Isera can hear the bustle just outside of the doors. Fen’harel nods. “You should speak to your mother.” He tells her. Isera’s eyes narrow. He up to something.

 

Isera goes to head to the door. She looks back when she realizes that Fen’harel has not followed her. “Are you coming?” She asks. He smirks, pulling his arms behind his back as he walks towards her. “Lead the way, vhenan.” He tells her.

 

Isera pulls her mask on top of her head as she opens the door. Men and women are running across all dressed in armor and weapons. Isera takes a deep breath before going to the right. She makes her way to where she believes her mother to be.

 

Eludysia is standing over a table with a large map of the Elvhen Empire. “The fighting is focused in the south. It seems the southern Order of the Keepers is an extreme sect. The Arlathan is reporting no movement within their tower.” Her mother’s voice echoes around her.

“They have taken the city. Get civilians out as possible. Slaves and civilians are the same priority. Mythal help us. We are at war with our strongest of the People.”

“Not all of them, mother.” Isera walks up to her mother. Isera is potentially the only i've'an'amelan who never joined the Keepers. A sole i've'an'amelan is strong, but one against a rogue order is questionable. Isera prays that having Fen’harel by her side will help.

Eludysia eyes widen at the sight of her daughter. She releases a piercing scream screams as she rushes towards her daughter. “Isera! You’re alive?” Eludysia smoothers her daughter in a hug. “I was so sure you were dead…you have been gone for so long.” She whispers in her ear. “Where have you been?”

Isera pulls back. “What are you talking about? How long have I been gone?” She asks, staring up at her mother in confusion. It’s been two days, at most for Isera. She tries to recall her time in the Fade, but her memory is fuzzy.

 

Eludysia tilts her head. “My daughter, you have been gone for six months…” Her voice is guarded and eyes narrow.

Isera gasps and turns to look at Fen’harel and only sees a giant black wolf behind her. She frowns, she hadn’t noticed him change. “Mother…we have a lot to discuss…” Isera whispers as she takes her mother’s hand. “We must find somewhere to talk.”

Eludysia nods. “You all have your orders!” She shouts as she takes her daughter into another room. Isera motions for Fen’harel to follow her.

Eludysia stares at the wolf. “He’s a dire wolf, no?” She states as she takes a seat. Isera looks at Fen’harel who is sitting at attention with his tail wrapped around his paws. “He’s something all right,” Isera mutters.

 

Her mother turns to her. “Isera, where have you been?” She demands. “I tried to find you—there was so much blood—I was so sure you died!” Her mother rushes out. “The servant said you were taken away by the Dread Wolf!” She clucks at the idea.  “Who has kept you away from your mother for so long?” She demands.

Isera can see the tears being blinked back by her mother. Her mother has never been one for expressing her emotions. Isera sighs. If anyone will believe her story, it is her mother. “The Dread Wolf, mother,” Isera answers her.

 

Eludysia frowns. “Don’t be preposterous. My rebellious daughter saying the God, Fen’harel, saved her? My daughter, who has repeatedly refused to take a knee for the Gods? Are you saying you believe in the Gods now?” She chuckles at the idea.

Isera smiles slightly. “Yes.” Then she frowns. “The Gods are asses by the way.” She can hear Fen’harel snort in protest.

 

Eludysia stares at her daughter, her face flat at her announcement. “Who are you and what have done with my daughter?” She demands, standing to her feet with her sword drawn. Isera jolts change in emotions. “Mother, it is me!” Isera shrieks her hands raised in defense. “You have the pendant with my blood, no?”

“Test it! Test the pendant, mother!” Isera asks as she backs away. Fen’harel growls lowly from behind, but Isera signals from him to stay.

Eludysia does the test. The blood from the pendant glows brightly. It means Isera is real. She collapses back into the chair consumed with happiness and confusion. “Mythal’s blessing!” Eludysia cries as she looks at her daughter.

 

Isera hums. “It is not Mythal you should be calling.” Isera turns around to look at Fen’harel who is still in wolf form. “Show her.” She tells him. He grunts in protest. Isera glares at him, cursing him silently in her mind. Finally, the wolf closes his two eyes only to re-open six bright blue eyes.

Eludysia stares at him from the chair. Isera looks at Fen’harel again. “All the way!” She demands, turning back to her mother shaking her head. “I promise you…he is always this difficult,” Isera mutters.

 

Finally, Fen’harel manifest in his humanoid form. He looks displeased with her. Eludysia’s eyes narrow as she walks up to him. “You are Fen’harel?” She asks, her head pulled back. Her mother stands her ground assessing the God before her.

He glances at Isera before looking back at Eludysia. “That would be correct,” he admits. His face is neutral as his blue eyes stare down at Eludysia.

“And you saved my daughter?” Eludysia questions her arms crossed as she assesses the God before her.

 

His stare does not waiver. “Yes.” He answers.

Eludysia turns away. “But you didn’t, not really?” She frowns, her hair flowing behind her. “I saw the amount of blood. I spoke to the slaves she saved. They said she crossed the Fade to save them. I saw the weakened Veil. The servant said he watched her spirit leave her.” 

She looks at her daughter a mixture of pride and concern in her eyes. “And so you become the very thing you hated all your life. Poetic isn’t it?” She sighs as she sits down once more.

“It is also poetic that I am bound to Mythal? To become a slave myself to save others?” She states. “To protect the Well from the Keepers.” Eludysia sighs once more, her voice quiet and full of defeat.

 

“Mythal told me.” Eludysia glances up at Fen’harel. “You are not the only God I have met.” She smirks with pride. “You being here means something. But alas, as long as the song plays, we shall dance.” Eludysia mutters before staring back at Isera, “And we are forever bound to the melody, my dear daughter.”

After a moment of silence, Eludysia continues. “I must say,” She clucks. “I do find enjoyment in the irony of you, my little rebel, being bound to Fen’harel.”

Isera groans, rolling her eyes. “It does not escape me, mother.” She answers as she sits down. “Now, explain to me what has happened?”

Eludysia sighs deeply. “The Order of the Keepers are corrupt. They seek to rise to the power of the Gods. They are led by eight Lords. Lord Sha’ael and Lord Miraen among them. It was chaos” She explains. “The People thought you were dead. And the Keepers began to revolt, claiming that they were divinely touched. They started demanding that the slaves be released to them.”

 

Eludysia shakes her head. “Those who you touched, with kindness, with healing, they came to me, asking to fight when we realized the Keepers were making blood sacrifices. The high priest and priestess of the Temples across the region called their doors to a close. They would not allow the Keepers to continue to murder the People. And here we are. Trying to preserve the People.”

Isera blinks looking at Fen’harel. “You’ve closed the door of the Temples? Who is fighting the Keepers?” He looks down at her, his face blank as he assesses the situation.

 

Eludysia shakes her head. “No one. We are trying to save as many people we can. Isera, they are i've'an'amelan, as you are. The Keepers were meant to guide us, but they have been blinded by their own hubris. They are the strongest of the People, and they have turned against us.”

Isera can hear the sorrow in her voice. “What of my father? He is within the Keepers, no?”

 

Eludysia shakes her head. “I have not heard from him. Whether he supports the cause or is against it, is unknown.” She pauses. “I do not know if he even lives.”

“Where are the Keepers now?” Fen’harel asks. He is kneeling next to Isera, one hand resting on his chin and eyes narrowed in thought.

 

“At present, they have formally overtaken the city,” Eludysia answers.

“Then we should go there.” Isera answers look at Fen’harel. He nods in agreement before he looks at Eludysia. “You said you have met Mythal?” He asks. Isera looks back her mother waiting for her response.

 

Eludysia chuckles. “Little wolf, one does not rise to a high priestess as I have without meeting the Gods one way or another.” She stands. “If you are going to fight the Keepers, I will call upon the high priests and arrange the Sentiles for battle.”

Isera shakes her head. “If you’ve met Mythal before why didn’t you tell me?” She asks. Eludysia turns to look at her daughter and eyebrows raised in questioning. “My daughter. You decided long ago that the Gods did not exist.” She answers.

 

Eludysia nods as she goes to depart the room. “Creators watch over us, for if we fall, so will the People,” Eludysia whispers as she closes the door behind her.

Fen’harel begins nodding. “She is wise beyond her years.” He comments as he stands closer to Isera.

 

Isera glances at him. He is still staring at the door. “She’ll eat you alive, Dread Wolf.” 

He shakes his head in agreement. “She’s Mythal’s high priestess and vassal.” He answers. “She would leave no bone uncleaned.” Isera laughs as she bumps her shouldering into his arm. “Come on,” She says, “the Keepers are waiting.”

 

\---

 

The city had been decimated. The Keepers are seeking complete destruction and control with no thought to the innocents in the crossfire. Isera is kneeling next to a building looking around the corner. It is too quiet, and there is a lack of people here.

Once, these streets were lined with people going about their lives, now the streets are barren and filled with the dead.

 

Isera shakes her head. “This is careless.” She mutters as she walks up the alleyway. Fen’harel is behind her in his wolf form silently watching over her. Her nose burns with the smell of decaying flesh, and her heart hurts for the dead left uncared for. 

“Banreas will meet us up ahead. He will help us into the fortress.” She tells him. Isera stares out past the market, where days—no months ago she walked the streets without a care. None of this should have happened.

 

Fen’harel nudges her with his nose. She turns to look at him. “What?” She asks. He bows his head, showing his shoulders. “You want me to ride you?” She questions then pauses looking down at him. He shakes his head, clearly in enjoyment.

“I’m quite thankful you are in wolf form so I can’t hear what your retort will be. I’ll assume it is smooth as you usually are.”  Isera mounts him as he trots forward. Isera has her staff drawn. She is unsure of what will be ahead. Her city is burning around her.

 

“So, Fen’harel.” Isera hums as they walk through the streets. “I am under the impression our stories about the Gods are incorrect.” She says. “Without a doubt, you all are not the descendants of Mythal and Elgar’nan.”

She can feel him laughing beneath her.

 

_“That would be correct.”_ He answers her. Isera pulls back and looks down at him. “You can speak?” She nearly shouts as she slaps his shoulder in offense. 

_“Only in your mind, vhenan. If someone who see you right now, they would see you talking to yourself.”_

 

Isera frowns. “You think you are clever.” She murmurs.

_“Mythal and Elgar’nan were the first, that much is true. But we were not born from them. We came to fruition from the calls of the People. First, was Falon’din for he carries the spirits across into the Beyond. Dirthamin was soon after—for he was born out of fear and deceit.”_

 

_“Andruil and Sylaise are sisters. The hunter and the hearth. The dawn of their life comes from the heart of the People. Finally, came June. When the People’s roots took hold in the earth, he derived from the tears of labor and joy for the People developed their home.”_

Isera nods. “And you?” She asks.

 

_“I came for the desire of more. Rebellions and blood of those who stain the soil. The desire for mischief and enjoyment. Our kind is not born out of malicious intent—we are both virtues and vices.”_

“And Ghilan’nain?”

_“She is bound to Andruil as you are bound to me. Her binding, like yours, allows her spirit to rise of Godhood. Andruil fell for the one known as Ghilani, an elven hunter known for her ability to navigate the land—her name long since forgotten by the elves. She was favored, but she made enemies in the name of Andruil. She was tricked and trapped. She prayed to Andruil for revenge, and it was granted. And then, she was injured and blind as a punishment for her crimes by the People_.”

 

_“Andruil grew angry and killed the people involved. She then stole Ghilani from the People and rose her to Godhood without informing Mythal. She created the halla for Ghilani as revenge. The People, without knowing, follow the guidance of a disgraced hunter.”_

 

“There is nothing written about that, though.” Isera presses as guides him up a hill to where she is meant to meet her brother. Devout or not, Isera grew up on the history and stories of the Gods.

_“You saw them. Together, they seduced the People into forgetting the history and killed anyone who refused to forget.”_

 Isera frowns. The idea that the Gods could…make the People forget history is disturbing for her.

 

_“Mind you, ma vhenan. Mythal’s wraith punished them greatly for the deceit. Rules and regulations went into place, and we were to forever remain behind the Veil.”_

 

“Isera!” Isera turns to see her brother rushing up to her. “Banreas!” She shouts as she slides of the wolf and runs to him. She jumps into his arms. “You’re alive!” He whispers as he lifts her into the air. 

“I am!” She exhales as she pulls back. He is covered in blood, fresh from battle. “You’ve been fighting?” She questions as she assesses him for injuries.

 

“The streets are relatively empty only an abomination or two. We found two hunters wandering the streets and they helped guide us here.” Banreas explains and then pauses. “There is a dire wolf behind you…why is there a dire wolf behind you?”

“Oh!” Isera gasps looking at Fen’harel. “This…this is…” She hums in a panic trying to think of a name. “Fen’harel!” She nearly shouts. She smiles tightly trying to hide her discomfort.

 

Banreas looks at her with confusion. “My sister named a black dire wolf…Fen’harel…after the Dread Wolf…” He trails off. “An elven God?”

Isera turns back to Banreas with a forced smile. “I like the irony of it.” She answers. If she is honest with herself, she enjoys the odd stares she has gotten from her mother and brother. For years, she has resisted and refused to acknowledge that the Gods could even exist. Yet, here she is bound forever to one.

 

Banreas gives her an odd look. “Well…” He hums before shaking his head. “Let’s go, we can regroup before deciding our attack against the Keepers.”


	8. Chapter 8

Isera follows Banreas as he explains to her what has happened in the six months she has been gone. He explained that the servant who stabbed her was caught trying to escape across the border with his family. When they were all taken into custody, he admitted that he stabbed her by order of Lord Sha’ael and Lord Miraen.

 

Banreas sent agents to intercept letters from the two lords after the accusations. Then the Keepers started lashing out. Everything happened so quickly that no one had time to react. The Keepers killed the government officials. The high priests and priestess called for peace, but the Keepers refused to relent.

Then they demanded the slaves. When people fought back, the Keepers sent spirits to kill anyone who resisted. The high priests called for slaves and civilians to come within the Temple walls for safety. Only eight lords who supported slavery had willing given the Keepers their slaves and then joined with them.

 

The warriors and hunters of Mythal, Elgar’nan, and Andruil had been forcing the Keepers to stay within the city limits and to protect the villages outside of it. But it was a losing battle. 

“We were surprised to find two hunters in the city—it looks like they handled the abominations with little issue,” Banreas adds as they duck into an empty house. It takes a lot of control for Isera not to snarl at the two hunters Banreas introduced. Bright red hair and silvery white hair—unmistakably Andruil and Ghilan’nain.

 

“This is Anuon and Ghilani.”

Isera forces a smile on her face. “Hello.” She greets with a curt nod. Fen’harel approaches from behind her, and she rests her hand on top of his head. The masked goddesses look at them with a grin.

 

“ _Be calm. If they are here, it is because Mythal has ordered them.”_ He whispers into her mind through the binding. Isera gives a curt hum in response.

 

“Are you the one who is supposed to save us all?” Andruil taunts with a grin, gold eyes dancing with mischief.

“I don’t know. Unless you kill us all out of spite?” Isera retorts glaring at her. Fen’harel huffs and presses his forehead into her thigh.

 

Banreas steps between them confused by her harsh words. “By the Void, Isera?” He questions loudly. “Why would you say that?” He whispers harshly has he drags her away. “We need all the help we can get!” He berates.

Isera sighs and rolls her eyes. He isn’t wrong. “Sorry…” she grumbles, looking away. She glared over at the two women who are chatting away. Isera looks down at Fen’harel who is giving her a disapproving look.

 

“ _They will attempt to irritate you.”_ He whispers in her mind.

Isera watches as Banreas walks away from her, gathering his platoon together for orders. Isera takes a knee as she scratches behind Fen’harel’s ears. “I don’t like them.” She whispers to him a scowl still on her face. They made her skin crawl.

_“You aren’t required to. Yet, they are here to help.”_

Isera glares down at him before blowing a puff of air onto his nose. Fen’harel responds by licking the front of her face. Isera groans as she pushes his snout away. “Ew…” she whines as she wipes the slobber off her face.

 

She begins idly petting him again watching Banreas give orders. Agents from all the Gods are posted around the city waiting for the orders to assault the keep. Once Isera breaches the inside, they will pull back to prevent anyone else from going in.  

 

The goal—to stop the Keepers at any cost.

 

\---

 Isera brings down her mask as they begin their approach to the keep. She is kneeling next to Fen’harel who is shielding her. Banreas and his agents are scouting ahead with the two goddesses. Isera is no tactician on the battlefield. She follows her brother’s lead by default.

If Andruil and Ghilan’nain can help her get past the walls, then she would follow them, even if it is a bitter pill to swallow.

 

She feels her body becoming more and more anxious by the minute. “Maybe we should go find them.” She whispers to Fen’harel who glances at her. He can feel her anxiety through their bond, pulling and biting at her mind, but does not say anything to her.

Finally, Ghilan’nain returns to her. “Come, there is an underground entrance. Andruil and Banreas will distract them for us.” Ghilan’nain motions for her to follow. Isera grumbles but follows the goddess.

 

Her beautiful white hair flows with each step—her footsteps make no sound as she descends past the wall, her hands brushing against the stone in search of the door. Isera cannot help but notice Ghilan’nain’s beauty. She is almost envious.

 

“ _You are far more unique than she.”_

Isera gives Fen’harel a side glance out of annoyance. “I wasn’t seeking your approval.” Isera huffs, pulling her mask down in embarrassment. It is rare for her to feel envious. She never cared to pay attention to how other’s looked. There is just something about Ghilan’nain that she finds, almost enchanting. “…but thank you.” She mutters as an afterthought.

 

Isera grunts watching as Ghilan’nain scouts ahead in search. “Is it a glamor charm?” She clucks, looking down at Fen’harel. He gives her a knowing glance but does not answer her. Isera rolls her eyes before jogging to catch up to the Goddess.

Ghilan’nain dashes to the side with a hushed squeal. She has found the entrance. The narrow opening is hidden among the stone to look like a natural curve of the cliff. Isera and Fen’harel squeeze through the opening. Ghilan’nain is standing in front of an enchanted stone door with runes protecting it. Her gaze is narrow upon the door.

 

Isera walks closer. It’s a puzzle of some sort. There are three circles, each with different images on them that glow with magic. The images themselves are clearly designs from centuries ago. “I think we can move the images in a circle to align themselves…” Isera whispers, resting her hand on her chin.

Ghilan’nain grunts. “That much is clear. But what should be the proper alignment?” She questions as she runs her hands of the stones. She looks back at Isera. “This is your world. What would it be?”

 

Isera looks at Ghilan’nain with disbelief. “Why would I know?” She questions. Creators only know what it would be. Isera stares at the carvings on the stone. She can think of multiple different ways of unlocking the door, but if she is wrong, the door could be a trap.

“You are from this world, _you_ should know,” Ghilan’nain comments back.

 

Isera sneers at the words. “You’re a god, shouldn’t _you_ be all-powerful and all-knowing?” She retorts, rolling her eyes. The two begin bickering in quick secession trying to outdo each other with harsh, caustic words. Isera’s blood feels hot as she continues to challenge the goddess.

Finally, Fen’harel calls forth the Fade to simply dissolve the barrier. He stands in his humanoid form glaring at the two who continue to bicker without awareness of the opening. He walks between them and through the opening, his arms resting on his back and shoulders tight without a word.

 

Ghilan’nain and Isera glare at each other before glaring at him as he continues to walk forward.

Isera rolls her eyes as she silently follows him. She’s embarrassed that she fed into the pestering by Ghilan’nain. The goddess emits arrogance. Isera falls into the snare of trying to knock deity from her tower. As she passes through the opening, Isera can smell the heavy scent of death that is permeating the halls.

 

Even now, Isera wants to turn back, fear eating at her courage, seeding doubt within her mind.

The floors of the hall are littered with the dead—only the life looks like it was drawn out of them. They didn’t have the ability to fight. The life force was drained from them before they could.

 

Fen’harel hums. “It does not appear all the Keepers fell to corruption. They were cut down by it.” He murmurs as he draws his staff and ascends the spiral staircase. Ghilan’nain looks back at Isera. For a moment, Isera thought concern pass through the eyes of the goddess.

 

“Falon’din will make sure they pass safely into the Beyond.” The goddess whispers as she follows Fen’harel.

But she is wrong. Corpses do not pass to the other side. There are no souls for Falon’din to collect.

 

Isera slowly follows them. Forcing herself to push the images of the dead from her mind with the hope she can save those trapped and protect the People. They quietly make their way through the halls, and it is deserted of the living.

“Why aren’t there fighters to meet us?” Ghilan’nain questions as she opens a door that leads into a library. She wanders in as Fen’harel waits for Isera to rejoin them. Isera does not bother to hide the disturbed look on her face as she walks into the library.

 

More self-doubt as she looks at the dead. Maybe she should have died that night.

“They need all the power they can get.” Isera whispers. “Their goal is to ascend to godhood. Godhood means power. Power is limited here, and thus, they take it. The power of blood and life is very insidious and formidable.”

 

Isera pauses, her mind reeling with hypothesizes. “It is likely they think the keep impregnatable.” She offers. “No one unless they are within the Order of the Keepers are allowed in. The Keepers themselves barely leave. Those who were considered subordinate were sacrificed for the power.”

“Then we keep ascending,” Fen’harel states as they walk through the library. 

Eyes dark, skin shrived. Their death means everything and nothing. Isera closes her eyes as she tries again to push the images out of her mind.

 

“Ghilan’nain, scout ahead.” Fen’harel orders as he grabs Isera by her arm. The goddess doesn’t say anything as she continues forward in search of…anything.

He stands close to her. The coolness of his gauntlet on her skin feels nice as she leans into his touch. “Steel your heart and mind.” He whispers, breath warm on her face. “Fear is in abundance here, and its hunger is vast.”

 

Isera stares up at him. “I don’t…I don’t know if I am strong enough…” She whispers. All she comprehends is her failures. The death of the People.

Suddenly, Fen’harel pulls back amazement. “Fear, that is it.” He whispers. “No one, if they have breached the walls, have made it this far. The Veil is weak. Fear…is stopping them.”

 

He turns back to her. “It wants you to feed it, ma vehnan. Only you can hush the voices in your head. You are stronger than you believe—you are worth more than you can imagen.” His hands rest on her shoulders. “You are special.”

 

Isera shakes her head. “Just because you decided I was worth saving doesn’t mean…it doesn’t mean I should have been. It doesn’t mean I am strong enough to fight this battle.” Isera rejects his notion. “Why don’t you save them?” She snaps motioning to the dead on the floor.

He silently watches her release the energy she has been hiding.

 

“Just because you chose me doesn’t mean I am special, Fen’harel. I am no different than the dead that lies on this floor. I could have…,” The words break in her throat. “…could have been them. I am them.” She rushes out.

Isera takes a deep breath, her hands grasping his steadying herself for the battle to come. “I now bare a burden because you chose me.” Her voice shakes as she looks up at him. “I will bare this burden. But I need you to stop saying I am different from them.” She finally concludes.

 

“Ir abelas, ma vhenan.” He bows slightly, bringing her hands to his forehead. An act of profound apology in elvhen culture. 

Isera feels a part of her relax before she coughs. “You were saying that the spirits of fear are within these halls?” She says as he drops her hands.

 

“That is correct.” He responds. That could explain the feeling deep within her mind. 

Isera cracks a small smile. “Good thing I have the Dread Wolf upon my steps.” She jokes shyly. He gives her a smirk before they move onto follow Ghilan’nain.

 

She can still feel Fear breathing down her neck. But things feel clearer.

 

She is not alone.

\--

The higher up they travel, the more energy builds up, but the fewer bodies they see. They are close. They stick close to the walls as they listen to anything ahead. There is chatter in one of the rooms.

 

“This was a mistake—“

“They said we are listening to the Gods!”

“When have the Gods ever spoken out against the Temple Guardians?”

 

Isera glances back at Fen’harel who is close behind her. He places his finger to his lips.

 

Ghilan’nain goes to push open the door, but Isera stops her. “Wait,” Isera murmurs. “Let me.”

Ghilan’nain stares at her in confusion but backs up. Isera steps around and gently pushes the door open. She signals for the gods to wait before following her. The two who were conversing before have drawn their weapons.

Isera steps into the room her hands raised in defense. “Hello…” She says as she stares at the two men before her. They glance at each other, clearly nervous at her sudden appearance. After a few moments of silence, one speaks.

 

“Who are you?” one demands.

“My name is Isera Lavellan.” She answers, “And you are?”

 

The man glares at her, his head snapping to the man next to him. His friend is staring at her in disbelief, mouth slightly open. “You contacted them!” His friend shouts. “The Keepers will have your head!” He spits, teeth bared in anger.

Isera glances in confusion but moves quickly as the man who asked her to name herself send a blast of energy to her and the other man. Isera dashes behind a pillar as she sends a shock of energy towards the attacker.

 

It was pointless. At the same time, her magic hit him, his neck was pierced with an arrow that exploded in his neck due to the charge of Isera’s magic. Isera looks at Ghilan’nain who’s bow is notched with another arrow, pointed at the other man. 

He drops to his knees, hands raised in surrender. “Do not shoot!” He shouts, voice cracking at the announcement. “I am no threat to you!”

 

“He’d attack her if we did not intervene. “Ghilan’nain announces, her bow still pulled and aimed at the man. He wears the robes that Isera recognizes as him being a Keeper. He shakes his head in disagreement. “I would not have attacked her.” He states, arms still raised. 

Ghilan’nain sneers at the lie. “And why is that? Your people sought to take over the world and rule as Gods, no?” He looks down in shame at the announcement. “The Order sought that, yes.” He answers.

 

“And you are a part of that Order, ergo, you are on the wrong side.” Ghilan’nain snaps.

The man shakes his head. “I will not fight my daughter.”

 

The statement hits Isera hard and leaves her breathless. Fen’harel and Ghilan’nain’s head snaps in her direction seeking her for to confirm or deny the allegation.

Isera pulls her lips together in nervousness. “I haven’t seen my father since I was five.” She admits, “I don’t remember him…not really” She murmurs as she stares at the man. He is tall, even on his knees, long black hair pulled into a low ponytail. Blue eyes. Isera turns her gaze to Fen’harel. “It is not a secret that my father is a Keeper. He could be lying at the recognition of my house name.”

 

Ghilan’nain turns back to him with a smirk and narrowed eyes. She is ready to take his life.

“You blew up a statue of Fen’harel when you were five by accident, and you cried for days on end believing the God would have you killed. Your mother found you alone in that part of the Temple when we lived in the north covered and dust and few injuries.” He takes a deep breath. “You made your mother promise not to tell anyone because you were scared that the high priest of the temple would punish you.”

 

Isera glances at Fen’harel with uneasiness in her eyes. “That is true.” She comments. “And to my knowledge, we didn’t tell anyone because it would have been an ill-omen.”

“Ghilani, drop your weapon.” Fen’harel orders with a wave of his hand. He seems satisfied with her response.

 

Ghilan’nain groans in displeasure but does as she is told.

The man slowly stands. Isera takes a deep breath unsure of how to react. Fen’harel appears to sense her uneasiness and begins to question the man, her father. It seems that her father is telling the truth.

 

Isera cannot even remember her father’s name. Her mother never speaks of him, and she barely has any memories of him. She knows nothing of this man other than he disappeared into the Order without looking back.

When he ceases to speak, Isera realizes that she has heard none of what her father said. She stares blankly at Fen’harel who is devising a plan. “Felivetanis, you will enter with the guise of accepting the new-found position of the Keepers.” He states with confidence. “Ghilani, enter as the man you killed. Insist that you have convinced the leaders that you showed him the path of light.”

 

“Isera and I will take the passageway he described to the room and dismantle the power. If we can find where they are storing the souls, then we will significantly weaken them.” He adds. Isera nods aimlessly. The idea sounds like a good one.

They watch as Ghilan’nain transforms into the man she killed and begins stripping him of his outer clothing. Felivetanis stares in shock. “Creators! That is not possible…” He mutters, rubbing his eyes at sight.

 

Ghilan’nain chuckles at the man’s confusion. “Magic!” She mocks as she hides her bow under the cloak. Felivetanis looks taken aback by the transformation. Isera shakes her head. “Best not ask questions.” She mutters to him, motioning for him to follow Ghilan’nain, who was already out the door.

He nods wordlessly as he follows the god.

 

Fen’harel looks down at her but doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to. Isera can read his gaze—he is concerned for her. But he already knows she is not all right. His questioning would result in her lying about her feelings.

Fen’harel brushes against her, his way of silently expressing to her that she is okay, before walking towards a wall. He does something that Isera does not fully understand, and the walls moves, revealing a pathway further into the tower.

 

“Your father believes that the souls of the dead are being kept farther within,” Fen’harel states when Isera continues to stand there. After a moment, she nods and follows him.

The passage leads to what Isera believes is the center of the tower. Spiritual guardians are haunting the halls, but the fight is relatively easy. There was one moment thought Isera was going to be overrun with the spirits. But Fen’harel move fast with his spells, faster than Isera has ever seen.

 

He releases them from their bound, and they disappear back into the Fade.

The room is glowing a brilliant blue. Isera can feel the vibration of magic and lyrium within this room. Encased in the center is what looks to be a giant lyrium heart. Isera stares at it in confusion with a frown across her face. She can see the souls of the dead swimming around it.

 

She looks back at Fen’harel. “We have to stop that.” She points to the colossal heart. “Any ideas?” She asks. Even he looks at a lost, unsure of how to proceed.


	9. Chapter 9

Isera stares at the glowing blue heart with each beat it pulsates magic. She quietly circles it unsure of how to free the souls encased within. “Is this where lyrium comes from?” She wonders out loud. “The dwarves mine it from…this?” She questions.

Isera has only seen the dwarves from afar. Much of their government and social structure are a mystery to her. The Elven Empire made trade deals with the dwarves, and only a select number of elven representatives and traders ventured underground. And the idea that the dwarves could invent anything

She glances back to Fen’harel who is staring up at the heart in a guarded interest.

 

“Do you know what this is?” She questions in confusion. While Isera has had extensive studies within the magical area, but nothing regarding the source of lyrium being a gigantic organ. “I thought lyrium was a mineral mined much like gold or onyx?”

Fen’harel seem reluctant to answer.

 

When he doesn’t answer Isera continues to press. “Do you know what it is?” She asks again. He looks away and begins looking around. “I have only heard rumors of other beings,” He sighs. “It is said Mythal is our first—that she just was, however, it is likely she was formed out of necessity as we once were.”

Isera frowns as she trails after him. “That isn’t answering my question.” She states as she watches him pace ahead of her. He looks disturbed. His face is guarded as he stares up at the heart.

 

“There are whisperings in the Fade. It is said when Thedas was first forming, Gods wandered the earth. Mythal for the elves and Titans for the dwarves while humanity was still growing,” he explains. “Like all aspects of mortal life, war is common.” His voice is low and unbothered. “Dwarves sought to conquer the elves and the elves sought to conquer the dwarves.”

He walks around the room with a sense of grace and austerity. “Prayers were sent and answered.” He explains. “Mythal struck down the Titans burying them deep into the earth as punishment for their deeds.”

 

Isera shakes her head in disagreement. “I never heard of a war between the elves and dwarves.” She states as she stops walking with him.

He shrugs. “History is forgotten. Oral stories changes, written stories burned or lost, it is unsurprising that elves, despite claiming to be immortal all willing, at one point or another, become tired of living and return to uthenera. With each passing generation, part of history is lost.”

 

“Yet you remember?”

Fen’harel turns to look at her. “No. Spirits enjoy acting with the mortal world. We, as Gods, rarely are meant to interact with mortals. We learn most of the events of your world from them. But they are fantastical creatures at times. Time does not exist in the Fade. By the time we learn about mortal issues, it could be centuries later.” He stops to stare at her.

 

“I would argue that your Keepers have found one of the Titans that Mythal banished eons ago.” He ends, extending his staff to tap the heart. The heart beat increases with the stimuli. “I wonder how they discovered this. Was it by accident?” He murmurs in thought.

“Fen’harel.” Isera’s voice is demanding and hard. “History is great and all, but right now my world is dying. Do you know how to destroy this heart and free the souls of the People?” She is impatient and desperate. The longer they stand here, the more people will die.

 

He cocks his head to the side. “I do not.” He answers. “Mythal did not kill the Titans, only banished them from walking the world.” He continues as he begins walking around the heart once more.

Isera looks at the heart, feeling the magical pulse through her body with every beat. “Fen’harel,” She whispers. “How does one kill a god?” She asks her eyes still staring at the heart. He pauses in thought. “Only God can kill another God.”

 

\---

Banreas and the other hunters and warriors from all Temples were descending upon the Keeper’s tower. He had lost four of his warriors on the way up. Arcane warriors from Mythal, Dirthamen, and Falon’din flanked most of the spirit warriors who were bound by the Keepers to fight.

“Creators! They are never ending!” He hears from behind him. They haven’t breached in the inner sanctum of the keep, yet more and more spiritual guardians kept manifesting.

Banreas released another charged arrow into the chest of a spirit guard watching it evaporate into the air. “Keep pressing!” He shouts as he rushes forward. He begins chanting a prayer to the Gods with each step forward.

 

\---

 

Isera watches as Fen’harel paces about the room speaking to himself out loud about to kill the being. Isera, on the other hand, finds herself entranced with the quiet hum coming from the lyrium. The souls of the dead flow around the heart slowly as though stuck in a whirlpool.

 

She can hear them crying out to her if she stands close enough. There is a magical barrier preventing them from flowing into the room, but underneath her feet, she can see a pool of lyrium and the more souls of the dead.

Isera bends down to look at the magical liquid, watching the faces of unnamed elves floating by shimmering magic. The song of the magic grows louder as she reaches down to touch the stream. It is as though the souls sense her nearing, ghostly hands reach out to her, calling out.

 

The ballad continues to increase in composition enchanting Isera lowers her hand to meet the departed essences. She can see the palms of the hands of the dead pressing against the barrier of the lyrium river, begging for her to come to them—“Vhenan!” 

Isera jolts up, pulling away from the water the souls screeching in displeasure.

 

She looks up at Fen’harel in surprise as the melody dissipates from her mind. “I—“ Words a mumbled on her lips as the fog in her mind clears. Fen’harel has pulled her away from the edge. “I’m sorry,” Isera utters as she holds onto his forearms. 

“The call of magic is stronger in this form.” He tells her as he pulls her to her feet, reference to recent ascent to divine power.

 

Isera looks away in confusion. “The song is wrong, though.” She answers. “The dead aren’t meant to…its tainting the music; can’t you hear it?” She asks as she looks back at him. Isera has always heard the song of magic. The melody exists in all things and gets louder with newer spells. 

This lyrium is singing an ancient song that Isera has never heard in a quiet hymn, but the chant is off. Awkward and out of tune, but a song nonetheless. “Listen…” Isera murmurs as she raises her hand to silence him from saying anything.

 

Fen’harel looks down in concentration as he quietly listens to the song being produced from the magic. His eyes narrow as he realizes that Isera is right—the song is not quite right.

“It’s being corrupted.” He plainly states as he turns to looks at her with a frown on his face.

 

\---

 

Ghilan'nain is standing next to the man claiming to be Isera’s father. She is masked as the dead man who would have murdered him as they ascend back into the hall. Felivetanis began explaining to her how the elite arose and corrupted the Keepers—it was insidious. It started as small changes at first, the higher leaders expressing a desire to serve the People better.

“The Keepers are isolated from the People,” He explains. “Only those in search of i've'an'amelan left the tower, and only the high elder left to deliver news of the God’s work.”

 

Ghilan’nain keeps her gazed focus as they continue to ascend the stairs. “Is that not what the Temple High Priest are meant to do?” She questions. She cannot recall having Keepers in her time, but if that was a forgotten memory or reality remains unknown for Ghilan’nain. It has been ages since she has been in the realm from which she was born in.

Felivetanis looks at her in confusion. He doubted that the education system has failed to such a degree. “The High Priest and Priestesses are to guide the People on a religious level, whereas the Keepers are meant for a government structure in addition to recording history by using scrying to communicate with the Gods.” He answers, his voice low as they approach the door.

 

Ghilan’nain hums with interest at the news as she pushes the door open, the fat fingers of her form pressing against the wood. The room is filled with elves of noble descent, dressed in elegant garbs fitting of a king.

Almost instantly she can feel the anger from the men radiating at her. “What are you doing?” One shouts with fury as he rushes up to her. “Lord Doshiel, you were given an order!”

Ghilan’nain cocks her head to the side. “Clearly, I misunderstood the order.” She answers, watching as men in robes begin surrounding her.

 

Another robed man rushes up to her. “You have always been an idiot, Lord Doshiel. The orders were clear as day. The prophecies were clear! You were to kill him and complete the ritual!” She snarls and pulling a dagger from her sleeve.

Felivetanis pulls back in defense. “Keeper Eirlana…” He murmurs.

 

Ghilan’nain hums. “Right, the blood ritual to fulfill the prophecy.” She answers as she stands still, appearing unaffected by the brandishing of the weapon. “What if the prophecy was wrong?” Ghilan’nain challenges eyes narrow as she attempts to learn more about the plot at hand.

The woman snarls. “You would dare question the Gods?”

 

Ghilan’nain sucks her teeth, withholding her comment, ‘ _Yes. All things considered.’_

“Lord Doshiel, you helped translate the prophecy. Do you question your ability?” Another member speaks out and another repeats the prophecy:

 

_“The blood of family seen_

_A rare set indeed_

_The melody calls_

_To seek the righteous path_

_Bring to us sacrifice_

_And return shall we.”_

 

Ghilan’nain shakes her head at the idea with a short chuckle. “Return of what? The Gods?” She murmurs to herself before placing her hands on her hips. She had watched Andruil answer prays in cryptic messages such as this, but no one, no one, has a sincere desire to return to the mortal realm. 

“I am having doubts as of late,” Ghilan’nain mutters. “How can you— _we_ be sure that the prophecy came from the Gods?” She asks.

 

The group sneers at her and begin discounting her. “Truly,” Ghilan’nain adds. “How sure are you that it is your Gods that answered your call, hm?” She challenges. She knows it will be no use trying to convince them that their prophecy is not from the Gods. But Ghilan’nain is unable to mask her smile when she hears the deafening shriek reverberate the room.

 

\---

 

Banreas watched in awe as his mother rode into battle on a shimmering golden yellow dragon with five horns jutting from the head of the beast. The dragon’s fire burnt down the door past the inner sanctum, allowing the army to flood further into the tower. The shriek from the beast sent primal fear down his spine.

He hears the calls to press onward, and he moves forward past the burning walls, ignoring the fear nipping at his heels as he enters the Keeper’s domain.

 

\---

 

“I’m just going to stab it,” Isera argues as she removes her staff from its place on her back. “Only a god and kill a god. Well, you made me a god.” They had been arguing for the last few minutes on how to end the connection the tainted source of lyrium had on the Keepers.

“It could start a war amongst the Gods, Isera.”

 

“I’m sorry, were you in a different area of Thedas? We are already at war!” She shouts. He throws his arms up in frustration. She was apparently refusing to listen to his logic and train of thought.

“No, we are not!” He retorts with a shout as he turns away from her in anger.

 

Isera pauses looking away blinking back her tears. She always cries when she is angry, and she hates it. “You are here. And so is Ghilan’nain and Andruil.” Isera breathes out. “You do not have to believe that Gods are already at war. The People are fighting a God who has manipulated our Keepers. I am at war. My people are at war.” She answers through grit teeth. 

He refuses to look at her, his back stiff with frustration. He wishes she would have stayed in the Fade with him. He could have forced her to stay. But she would have fought him every step. Isera would not relent until she was able to return to the People or the Beyond.

 

Before he could say anything else, Isera sent her staff flying into the beating heart watching it lodge in the main artery.

Fen’harel takes a sharp intake of breath as he watches the blue lyrium turning red with each weakening heartbeat.

 

“Well, that was effective,” the hum of Falon’din comes from behind Isera. She shrieks in surprise as she whips around staring at the god. He is under no guise. “What are you doing here?” She demands her hand over her heart.

He glances at her, tilting his head response. “Them.” He points to the souls who are rising from the river that is slowly being corrupted by Isera’s staff. She can see the pain in fear in the eyes of the dead as they struggle to escape the corrupted magical liquid.

 

“The lyrium’s corruption has hastened with the breaking of the seal. These souls will be consumed if I do not carry them into the Beyond.” Falon’din only states, unaffected by the recent events. He moves quickly passed them and begins humming a tune as he collects the souls into a white, sparkling gemstone that darkens with each soul consumed.

Isera can feel the charged, angry energy admitting from the red lyrium as she begins backing away from the heart. 

“Isera, we need to go.” Fen’harel orders as he starts pulling at her arm to retreating to the higher levels. The energy only keeps building as the corruption keeps spreading. Isera lets herself be dragged up the stairs, watching as Falon’din rush to collect as many souls as possible ignore the swearing by Fen’harel.

 

\---

 

Ghilan’nain jumps back in shock as the men and women surrounding her collapse screaming in pain. She draws her sword as she watches the bodies of the Keepers and Lords twist and transforms into abominations. A red glow is tearing through their skin, bubbling and distorting body and limbs.

 “By the Creators!” Felivetanis shouts in fear and confusion. “Abominations!”

 

Ghilan’nain sneers as she cuts down a Red Keeper with easy. The swarm shrieks in anger. She shakes her head at the realization she is painfully outnumbered. “Come!” Ghilan’nain demands as she grabs Felivetanis by the arm, dropping her mortal guise. She pulls the man out onto the balcony, the Red Keepers hot on their trace.

“We are trapped!” Felivetanis shouts as he leans over the rail looking down. The drop is well over 300 feet tall.

 

“You’re a mage, transform into a bird!” Ghilan’nain shouts as she steps onto the banister. Felivetanis shakes his head. “I did not specialize in creature transmutation!” He argues.

Ghilan’nain snarls at the news. The idea that mages no longer learn transmutation is absurd to her. “Come here!” She demands as she helps him onto the banister. She gives him a sinister look. “Try to limit your screaming.” She mutters as she pushes him off the edge of the tower.

 

Ghilan’nain ignores the screams of the man as she jumps off the railing and plummets down towards the earth. Her magic consumes her as she transforms into a brilliant, silvered dragon with curved horns. She continues to dive after Felivetanis and catches him in her claws before pulling up, feet before the ground ignoring the screams of the People below. 

Ghilan’nain lands as the Keeper’s tower explodes sending waves of light and metallic smelling heat. With dragon wings exposed, Ghilan’nain absorbs the heat of the blast as she uses her body to protect Felivetanis and the People from the debris and corrupted magic.

 

\---

 

Isera feels a slab of rock pressing against her back. She is covered and dust and feels dizzy and disoriented. She tries to sit up but is unable to. Her head is buzzing with the sound from the explosion.

She feels hands pulling at her limbs as the slab of rock is slowly lifted off her body. Isera grunts as she tries to look around. Her head aches with every movement. Once she is free the people, who pulled her out from the rubble move on to save as many people caught in the blast.

Isera rests against the rumble trying to focus on her surroundings. She watches as a six, blue eyed dire wolf slowly approaches her. He bows his head as he presses his top of his muzzle against her face. 

 

She wraps her arms around his neck breathing in the scent of familiar amber and chocolate. He shifts his body for her to climb onto his back. Isera smiles, her face hidden in his fur. Fen’harel walks her away from the debris. “Did we stop them?” Isera murmurs into his fur.

_“Yes.”_ He answers as he keeps walking _. “Mythal and your mother will assist with the aftermath of the explosion.”_ He explains.

 

“We should stay.” Isera tiredly argues.

“ _You have done your part, vhenan_. _It is time for you to rest_.” He tells her. Isera feels the warm and familiar sense of magic consume her as a green light surrounds her body.


	10. The Legend of the Halan'ghillan and Fen’harel

And so, the People defeated the Order of the Keepers and vowed to never let an organization to hide themselves from the world. The People fought bravely against those who sought to raise themselves as Gods.

Isera Lavellan, one of the i've'an'amelan, who never joined the order, who helped win the battle was given a boon by the Dread Wolf himself. It is said that he fell in love with her, but she refused to share her affections. She would not leave the People. 

Then one day, Lady Isera was attacked for doing what was best for the People—trying to end slavery. The Dread Wolf saved her, but she still refused to leave the People. They say she said she would rather die than then be forced to abandoned the People.  

The Dread Wolf was not swayed by her strength and passion for the People. He promised her that she could return to the People to help with the war if she promised to return with him after. She still refused, unless he agreed to her condition. That she would be able to return and guide the People when they needed her the most.

The Dread Wolf’s heart filled with joy. He agreed to this request. He made her into one of the halla, but golden for her pride and devotion to the People. If you ever feel lost, just look for the golden halla—she will be there to guide you. And if you are quiet enough, you can hear the sound of the Dread Wolf howling for his love.

For he never leaves her side when she returns to the People.

But be wary, my children, for if you see the golden halla and dread wolf together, they know something is amiss, for she is our guide and he is her protector.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and Kudos are appreciated <3


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